Episode 1: Welcome to New Carthage

Night heals wounds, at least when you're looking from a distance. The jewelled skyline of New Carthage twinkles at you from afar on a coastline mercifully sheathed in velvet darkness. You hover for a brief moment over the poisoned sea, then bank and turn south, approaching the rebuilt city. As you get closer, you notice various other flying vehicles, hovercrafts and shuttles, crisscrossing the cityscape at different levels, some skimming just above street level. You grip your seat tightly in the Harrier AV-8H, as your maniacal pilot banks his jet over Bayfront, and flies in between the buildings like a psychotic, dodging haphazardly down Hitachi street, over to the Eastern city's gleaming towers of urban wealth.
You get close enough to read some of the more garish holographic advertisements. A particularly loud text in green on black reads "New Carthage: Stronghold of Civilisation". This message remains legible for a few seconds as the aerial shot fades to black.
**
Doughboy is smiling at you far too enthusiastically. The shot is very tightly cropped, and from this close angle he is entirely unprepossessing, particularly given the smile. His long black hair is coming out in patches. His eyes shift from side to side as his eyebrows twitch from time to time. He looks to be in a constant state of panic. The camera zooms in on his lips, and his manic voice addresses you "Welcome to your New Life in New Carthage…"
Doughboy's hand reaches out to you, foreshortened by the camera. He smiles again, twitching violently. He whines desperately "Will you be my friend?"
Suddenly Doughboy's hands, entirely out of focus, jerk up towards the camera, grabbing it from the cameraman's hands! You hear muffled cursing and a high-pitched feminine scream off camera.
Doughboy shouts, "I am not an animal damn you! I am a human being!"
Another camera catches a bit of the action, as Doughboy is tackled by the production team, roughly pushed aside, and slumps to the ground, seemingly unconscious.
An animated logo appears on the screen in bright green text: "A documentary by 'Reality Bites' Productions.
Doughboy's hand reaches up, and grabs the logo, and tears the letters right off the screen. The scene blacks out.
**
As the picture fades in again, you look up anxiously. Three silhouetted female forms are looking down at you. From this angle, they seem almost identical, like paper cutouts, or clones.
You're not sure how excited you are about meeting another New Carthage welcoming committee.
The friendliest-looking of the three, Angelika, reaches out a slender, perfectly manicured hand to you, pulling you up gently to your feet. She smiles at you ravishingly, and brushes some dust off your shoulders. "Hello darling. Welcome to New Carthage."
The second member of the trio, Demonika, looks you up and down sardonically, clearly not very impressed with your outfit. Her voice dripping with irony, she continues Angelika's sentence: "Whether you're a tourist or new resident, we just know how much you're going to enjoy your stay."
The third clone, Neurotika, looks at you knowingly: "We also know that you'll want to survive to tell others about the … fabulous time you had here. " She bites her lip.
Angelika looks at you gently. She continues with some pride "Our city has survived riots, global war, natural disasters, and full-scale invasion. Like the ancient Carthage, we were razed and burnt to the ground, our accursed land covered with salt to ensure its barrenness. Like the proud Carthaginians of old, we too rebuilt our city and rose to become the stronghold of civilisation that we now are, darling."
As Angelika speaks, characteristic scenes of New Carthage city life flash before you. Anonymous corpses line a sullen alley, a long-tailed rat scuttles into the corner of the john, a gothic-looking white-faced borg emerges from a damp sewer, a cheaply made-up tart winks at you from behind a pall of cigarette smoke in some anonymous dive bar. As Angelika says the words "stronghold of civilisation", you are deposited in the New Carthage Security Patrol Detention Tank. It is a large dark room, made out of solid concrete. A ramp leads up and out of this wretched pit. Dust and grime covers the floor, and rat droppings line the corners. A NCSP monitor is affixed to a pole here, its red activity light blinking silently. A large cyan spray-painted graffitti scrawl proclaims: "That Svet is one fine piece of ass..." across the entire wall. In a dark corner, you notice Guido cruising for a piece of ass and Sage, sleeping.
Mercifully, the Detention Tank and the rather unappealing Guido fade out after a few excruciating seconds.
**
Angelika, Demonika and Neurotika, heads crowded together for the shot, nod at you seriously, and say, in chorus: "Like us, you can build a new life in New Carthage."
Neurotika hisses at you loudly. "Why are you hanging around here, twit, do you have any idea what happens to people who make a habit of that? Go get a credstick from the bank on east Fuji Avenue and then buy your clone from the Clone Arrangers near the southern corner of Midtown and Joseki!! Check the map on your complant if you're lost…"
The BanCorp Investments logo arrives pompously on the screen. A smooth, sushi-fed voice delivers what certainly appears to be a heart-felt message, "At BankCorp Investments, we care about all our clients, no matter how little cred you have. Do let us know if you notice that your account has any irregularities. Please review your transactions regularly, and report any missing funds. The only way to prevent theft is to be aware of how and when it happens." The logo swans off officiously.
You are sure you notice a definite sneer on Demonika's face, as the three almost identical faces begin spinning, at first slowly, and then rapidly dissolve into a blur of colour and motion.
**
Cloning yourself

Born again, you stare out with the wide-eyed unblinking gaze of the neonate. You try to bring the world into focus, as slowly you realise your body is floating in a clone-vat, immersed in some sort of viscous, pink fluid, a suspended embryo in a womb of humming chrome and silicon. Your eyes widen and you reach down involuntarily, covering your nakedness, simultaneously checking your new body for any of the telltale signs of clone failure. Muscle atrophy, weakened bones, reduced sensory ability, language difficulties…
A close up of Demonika slides onto the screen. She is clearly enjoying your discomfort, and smirks at you. "Well, well, it didn't take you long to try out the renowned New Carthage clone vats darling. Tut tut.. Nevermind, very high turnover round here, so they do need to maintain the highest standards of hygiene. Best check all your parts are where they should be though, clone failures happen in the best families…"
Angelika pushes the ogling Demonika aside, and smiles at you solicitously. "You have no idea how many of our friends we've had to meet here…"
**
Angelika and Demonika's faces fade out, and you are transported to a flashback scene of Neurotika pacing nervously around the lobby of the Clone Arrangers, like an anxious parent awaiting the arrival of a newborn from the gen lab. The place is covered with pure white tiles, floor to ceiling. On the far wall is a 3'x3' chute with a foam mattress beneath. The only other furnishing is the white-sheeted table in the center of the room. There is a blackened hole in the middle of the lockers, where one has been blown open.
**
Suddenly, a middle-aged Mexican male, Diesel, slides out of a chute in the wall with a wet smack, landing squarely on the thin foam mattress. He is stark naked, and drips with vat fluid as he stands up, obviously looking for a towel. He walks over to Neurotika.
Diesel looks to stand about 6'2" and looks to weigh roughly 205 pounds. His shaved head reflects the ambient light as his green eyes look about the area. Light shines off the gleaming skin of his bald head. He has several tattoos in tribal theme. His neck is well defined, lines very well sculpted from years of work. Firm muscles dominate his shoulders in outright splendor as they ripple in movement. His small brownish nipples stand hard from the cold air, his pectorals shine from the ambient light. A perfect machine, his biceps are well defined. A fine mist of sweat enshrouds his arms from tedious work. A perfect eight, his abdominal muscles visible through his thin frame. As we go below the waist, his five inch flaccid penis comes into view. It sits there proudly. Moving past his package, his quads are intricately defined, their every line visible through the body tight skin.
Diesel blinks confusedly, then smiles at Neurotika, his body shaking slightly from the cold.
Neurotika rushes over to Diesel, handing him a towel. "Oh my God, I was convinced your clone would fail this time..."
Diesel starts to towel himself off, hugging Neurotika "I'm glad too, This town is so unfair." You notice that he is a somewhat wooden actor, or perhaps he is merely unused to appearing naked in public.
Neurotika wraps Diesel in the towel solicticiously. She is also self-conscious - her acting is only slightly better than Diesel's. "I thought I'd never see you again..."
Neurotika shifts her arm around Diesel, steering him towards the rented lockers to pick up his clothing. Suddenly her expression changes, and she arches an eyebrow at Diesel. "I suppose you have no idea why you suddenly found yourself so very dead, then?"
Diesel says, "I wish I knew. But, I can't remember anything."
Neurotika's eyes narrow, and she frowns, nostrils flaring. "If I find out it had anything to do with that silly little girl you were chasing after..."
Diesel raises an eyebrow.
Diesel asks, "I was?"
Neurotika rolls her eyes. "Oh my God, every man I ever met does this. The first memories that vanish in the clone vat are their pecadilloes..."
Over the pristine white of the Clone Arrangers, a magenta spray-painted scrawl appears, as if sprayed by an invisible hand: "Go to Maggs! Don't Buy From Those Who Steal From You!" The camera zooms in, and magenta soon covers the entire screen.
**
The camera crops Neurotika's face uncomfortably tightly. She has a small but noticable smear of lipstick on her front tooth. Her eyes narrow briefly, nostrils flaring, and she appears to be mentally calculating your statistical chances of survival. "Bad thing about clone facilities, you know -- their knitting machines occasionally drop a couple of stiches."
**
The camera focuses unflinchingly on Gareth, a living testimony to the reality of clone failure. Gareth's skin is a cool, unblemished mass of quicksilver chrome. It mirrors his surroundings in complex curve of light and sheen. A pair of implanted mirrors fill the sockets where his eyes should be. The mirrored, stainless material reflects the nearby area of head in a distorted, upside down view. It is hard to tell what he is looking at, he could even be blind. He is wearing a smashing outfit, very much the type that decorate the floor of Hubbard Army.
Gareth, turns to Hallel, smiles, his smile drops away as he notices Raul, New Carthage's notorious thug. Gareth stutters something in an unintelligible language.
Raul asks "So who's the retard?"
Hallel motions towards Gareth.
You are starting to realise from the somewhat haphazard camerawork that this scene was not shot by a professional.
Raul barks at Gareth, shoving the camera into his face, "Speak English for the camera"
Gareth walks away from the lotto term and approaches Hallel slowly. He stutters something in an unintelligible language.
Raul growls to Gareth "If you're so fucked up and cant speaky the englishy nod your fuckin head"
Gareth shrinks back away from the camera, and moves back over to the bar, looking around nervously, then muttering something in an unintelligible language.
Raul scratches himself lewdly, and mutters a short string of curses.
Gareth just looks around nervously, eyes darting, looking for anything to help.
Raul focuses the camera right onto Gareth's terrified face. "Pay the lady to take her shirt off."
Hallel gets out her credstick.
Gareth begins making a series of noises, softly, and quietly, inarticulate but desperate.
A little later, the movie cuts to a close-up on the corpse of the unfortunate Gareth, lying on the corner of Midtown and Fuji. In this area, highbrow clubs cater here to the fetishes of Midtown's skin sculptors. Neon-lined buildings surround the intersection. Their gaping, chromed doors spill lines of waiting ravers like steaming, unraveled guts. Industrial synth and postwar grunge hangs in the late night air, a standing wave of reverb and music. A bright neon sign glows to the north, the words 'Club XS' mirrored in the windows.
Gareth's corpse looks fairly fresh and probably died within the last few hours. Deep tissue damage is present and indicates a massive blunt force injury to the victim's head. A set of right hand abrasions leads you to believe that very minor blunt force trauma might have been sustained in that area. Traces of blunt force injuries grow in frequency as your gaze shifts across the broken skin of the victim's abdomen. A set of left foot abrasions leads you to believe that very minor blunt force trauma might have been sustained in that area. You are able to ascertain that the corpse had at least mirrored eyes implanted.
Raul's MIA trenchcoat and blood-stained combat boots are just visible in the corner of the shot. The camera shifts slightly, and you catch a glimpse of Hallel's naked legs. You hear Raul and Hallel discussing quietly but very seriously which of them should get to sell the unfortunate Gareth's mirrored eye implants.
**
Neurotika looks accusingly at Angelika. "I still can't believe that you actually employed that thug, Raul." She shudders.
Angelika rolls her eyes, suggesting with a single look that Neurotika is showing a rather embarassing lack of insight. "He's a magnificent bodyguard, darling. He saved my life more often that I care to remember. And his camerawork isn't too terribly shoddy… besides, all he did was put the poor retard out of his misery. You should see some of the other footage he got for me."
Some sixth sense alerts Angelika to turn around, and she sees the red 'record' light blinking on the camera. Instantly, she suppresses her somewhat inappropriate grin, pastes on a convincingly reverent look, and nods seriously at the camera. "Well darlings, that's the terribly sad fate of a clone failure. I do hope that little snippet encourages you to avoid ending up like the poor sweet Gareth."
**
The scene cuts to an advertorial. Phoenix Soze, pilot for Parallel Resurrection, stands with the PR CMAe Viggen AV-41 behind him, its tilt-jets slewed in ground position. Shot from below, Soze cuts an imposing figure. As he will readily admit, corporate employment has clearly boosted his self-importance to an extreme. A tall man with broad shoulders, he normally moves with an easy glide, but today, for some reason you don't really want to discover, he is pacing around like a caged animal.
On his face is a sturdy pair of wraparound battleshades, of black and chrome carbon fiber resin frames, impact resistant, with vivid red lenses. A lightweight headset covers his ears with thin foam earpieces. The PR headset's bead mike is tucked against the side of his cheek. Soze's head is covered by a short crop of blonde hair slicked stylishly foward. He regards you from behind cold, sea green eyes, obviously augmented. His chin is square and clean shaven. Soze is wearing a bodysuit of thick mesh fiber. Held close to his body by a series of adjustable straps, the suit is a deep rusty red that fades to small trails of silver at the seams beside the zippers. His hands are long-fingered and seemingly deft. Strapped across his left thigh is a matte black ammo bandolier. His right thigh bears a matte black kevlar plated tactical holster, complete with quick-release straps. His feet are protected by a pair of obviously armored matte black combat boots. The toe is protected by a polished steel cup, perfect for crushing the ambitions of the weak.
Soze takes a minute's break from some very hush hush intrigue to deliver the PR advertorial. "Clone Arrangers and Clones-R-Us are your basic bargain basement options…if you're happy to take risks with your life. If that's not something you like gambling with, though, you'll be interested to know that Parallel Resurrection clients are safer from clone failure and, if they have our bracelets, they're also safe from muggers. Oh, and there's a 50% discount on our little bracelets if your clone data is in the PR database …" He gives a mocking chuckle, and boards the CMAe Viggen AV-41, nodding politely. "Now excuse me, I have some impulse shopping and ambition crushing to do…"
**
Angelika waves at you, smiling brightly. "Go get another clone now, darling!"
Neurotika glances anxiously back at the camera, biting her lip. Noticing that she is still being filmed, she frowns, probably firing off a message on her complant. Then she flicks her hair into what she imagines is a more becoming style, and surreptitiously adjusts some unseen detail on her outfit.
Demonika stalks away from the camera, long shiny trenchcoat flapping, her stiletto heels leaving small but nonetheless noticeable incisions in the otherwise featureless white landscape.

Episode 2: Places to go: NC's vibrant social scene

Angelika, Demonika, and Neurotika are sitting at the hairdresser, all three their heads under large chrome dryers, their right legs crossed demurely over their left, all at identical angles.
Angelika, painting her nails, smiles ravishingly at the camera. "Well darlings, once you have a clone, and some kind of an outfit, you'll be wanting to know where to go for a party. And we certainly do know how to have a good time here in New Carthage"
Neurotika glances sidelong at Angelika, muttering. "Tell the poor idiots to crawl back into their coffin hotels and stay there."
Angelika entirely ignores this rather sensible suggestion, gushing enthusiastically. "Oh, there's the Syndrome, and ClubXS for dancing, and Devil's Reef has lovely Nirvana Ale, and there's that funny decker place, the Last Exit, but my favourite bar is the Blacklight 90, on Bayfront, especially when Blue gives a concert there. "
As the hairdressing scene fades out, all three women uncross their legs, then cross their left legs over the right, again all at the exact same angle.
**
Angelika and Ettelbrae walk into the Blacklight 90 together, looking nonchalantly about at the huge crowd assembled here for Blue's concert.
With the exception of retro-style neon encircling the exits and serpentine bar, black light is the only source of illumination, coating everything in a dark grey veneer. Any colors worn by the patrons that refuse to comply with the darkness stand out with a soft white glow. The centre of the high-ceilinged room is awash with dancers, moving in an organic beat to Blue's retro tunes from the last century, relics of the fear and thrill of the future. The clientele cuts a swathe through the entire socio-economic structure of the city, social misfits and the slumming rich homogenized together in a dark pudding of bass beats, strong drinks and inky black. Blue (DDS) is standing behind a microphone, on the stage.
The camera moves in on Blue, from below, as head lowered, he plays a riff on his Stratocaster guitar. He stands at about 5'5, with a slim, wiry body, and it would be easy to overlook him in a crowd. Nonetheless, strangely, his stage presence is magnetic.
A more intimate close-up of the fashionably retro local muso reveals his sandy blonde hair, about shoulder length, tucked back behind his ears, and a pair of dark sapphire eyes and studs. His prominent chin and cheekbones are only barely hidden by a permanently casual look, even as he stands before the huge crowd on stage.
Blue's DNI socket is barely visible near the back of his head, protected from the elements by a small iris cover. He wears a slightly over-sized Irish cable-knit sweater of thick, warm, blue wool, a pair of tight denim jeans, and black jackboots. His hands on the guitar are fine but strong looking, with many visible veins showing.
The camera focuses briefly on some of the more well-known faces in the bar. Yun Lei, Angelika Ransfield, Monica [NCPK], and Lynx Xara are sitting together at the chrome-rimmed bar snaking around the east wall. Harold is standing here. Piper -((- is scowling and keeping as far away from the crowds as possible. OJ is leaning on the bar waiting for a patron. Martinique is here, looking sour, crabby, and confrontational. Esoto and Ettelbrae are here. Cilix [NCPK] is here, grappling with Martinique.
Ettelbrae stays out of the way, slouching against the wall..
The camera shifts over with a jerk to the side of the stage, where a roving band of slim punk female fans rush the stage as Blue sings, "We want anything and everything you can give us!" They yell as the rush forward. Cilix's eyes widen, and he depresses a button on his Tsunami 3000 whispering something softly. Monica puts her beer on the bar. Monica gets out her crimson dark-visored MeshGirl helm, pulls it over her head and locks it in place under her jaw. She rises from the bar, and moves to the stage to assist Cilix.
Piper slings her AK-97 assault rifle across her back.
Cilix raises his stun stick high as the women approach, preparing to dish out a fairly painful blow should they get too close.
Lynx Xara acks as e am pushed forward with the punks, but e manages to move off to the side before e get squished.
At the bar, Yun Lei raises a brow, applauding along with the crowd, as she comments in a low tone that can barely be heard over the cheers, "Wow, this is getting kind of rowdy."
Lynx Xara waves to Monica, as e attempts to push eir way out of the crowd, and e makes a face as e almost get elbowed in the process, "Ack.. I'll get out of your way, fuck.. just let me out."
Blue wipes his forehead again, and says into the microphone. "This one is called Sign O' the times. It's about 45 years old, now, but it's still kinda relevant, if a little quaint."
Someone in the crowd shouts, "Yeah retro!" and falls silent.
Blue plays some muted notes in a tight rhytmic pattern, for about 10 seconds, before announcing 'Oh Yeah!' into the microphone excitedly, and starting to play a funky riff. He begins to sing, stopping the riff and playing a little accompaniment. 'In France a skinny man died of a big disease with a little name - By chance his girlfriend came across a needle and soon she did the same - At home there are 17 year old boys and their idea of fun - Is being in a gang called the disciples, high on crack and totin' a machine gun.' He begins to play the funky riff again. 'Time - Time.'
Cilix is taken off guard as one of the fans moves next to him and begins clawing at his neck, he swings around his stun stick and lands a harsh blow directly to her nose, causing her to fall to the floor unconscious. Cilix holds his stun stick in front of him as he drags the unruly woman into the lockup pen.
Blue stops the riff again, to sing, playing minimal muted accompaniment. 'Hurricane Annie ripped the ceiling off a church and killed everyone inside - You turn on the tele and every other story is telling you somebody died - My sister killed her baby 'cause she couldn't afford to feed it - And yet we're sending people to the moon - In September my cousin tried reefer for the very first time - Now he's doing horse - It's June.' Blue plays some funky double stops. 'Times - Times.' He then plays some atmospheric chords, lifting his voice for the chorus. 'It's silly, no? - When a rocket ship explodes - And everybody still wants to fly - Some say a man ain't happy 'less a man truly dies - Oh why-hy-hy-hy - Time -'
Lynx Xara finds eirself ejected from the crowd and e tumbles back towards the bar, landing near Yun Lei with a huge grin on eir face, "Woo.. that was fun.. at least noone elbowed me in the crotch this time.."
A club-goer wearing a union-jack t-shirt shouts out from the back of the crowd, waving a lighter frantically, "Yeah entropy! Woooo! Yeah Blue!!"
Blue plays the funky riff again. 'Time.' before playing a little riff to bridge to the verse and going back to the minimal accompiment. 'Baby make a speech - Stars wars fly - Neighbours just shine at home - But if night falls and a bomb falls will anybody see the dawn? - Time - Times.' He plays the atmospheric chords of the chorus. 'Is it silly no, when a rocket blows - And everybody still wants to fly - Some say a man ain't happy truly - Until a man truly dies - Oh why - Oh why - Signnnnnnnn - Of the times.'
Angelika climbs up to sit on the bar, and get a better view of the stage, now, with unrestricted view, her eyes focus on Blue. She smiles slightly.
Blue sings, playing a few different funky riff variations. 'Time - Time - Sign 'o' the times - Mess witcho mind - Hurry before it's too late - Let's fall in love, get married, have a baby - We'll call him Nate - If it's a boy.' He starts to pull back on his volume pedal, gently singing - 'Time - Time.' before the song fades out entirely.
Piper watches with a distant interest, her gaze scanning over the crowd, pausing on one or two people then focusing on Blue, a tiny smile breaks her features and she wraps her arms around herself nestling herself tighter against the wall, letting people pass back and forth.
Drone_56a's voice catches everyone by suprise, saying to Piper. "You look like you're enjoying yourself." Done_56a smirks smugly at Piper.
Drone_56a is a monolithic juggernaut, a neuter of average height, it seems to be in top physical form. It appears to lack any visible hair anywhere on its body. Its facial features are chiseled and betray little emotion. You notice that its irises gleam like mercury. Its movements are controled, graceful, and efficient. A pair of Gunshin ATS goggles with blue transparent lenses are strapped around Drone 56a's head. A deep black body suit covers its entire form. The material is thick, and sewn in a weave pattern.
Lokin strolls in past the bouncer and is quickly swallowed up by black light, transformed and distorted. He says glancing about the bar, "The unwashed masses."
Lynx Xara leans toward Lynx Xara and sniffs experimentally.
Blue launches straight into the next song, without wiping himself, only allowing a few seconds to flick his fingers over the machine heads to tune his guitar. Blue starts the song out by playing a funky, reasonably upbeat r&b riff, and starts to sing energetically in a falsetto. 'I ain't got no money - I ain't like those other guys you hang around - It's kinda funny - But they always seem to let you down - And I get discouraged - 'Cause I never see you anymore - And I need your love babe, yeah - That's all I'm living for, ye-heh!' He plays a series of intermittent chords in the pre-chorus - 'Didn't wanna pressure you, baby - But all I ever wanted to do.....'
Drone 56a asks Cilix "Can i swing my thumbwire around in a full circle and see how many people i kill? We could place bets. "
Lokin smirks slightly and holds up 4 fingers for Drone to see.
Drone 56a [to Lokin]: Four!? I can do better than that.
Lokin [to Drone 56a]: People will duck once they feel the blood spray.
Drone 56a [to Lokin]: I think you're giving them too much credit...
Blue sings the chorus energetically, over the same upbeat rhythm of the verse - 'I wanna be your lover - I wanna be the only one that makes yyou come... runnin'! - I wanna be your lover -I wanna turn you on, turn you out - All night long, make you shout - 'Oh lover, yeah!' - I wanna be the only one you come for...'
Angelika winks and makes exaggerated kissing faces at someone she recognises in the crowd.
Drone 56a turns to Angelika "Hey girl...I noticed you checking me out."
Angelika notices Drone_56a and decides this might be a good time to leave. The camera wobbles and jerks as she weaves her way out through the bar, mentally paging -p 505-neon to call a cab to safety.
**
The darkness of the Blacklight 90 cuts to the hairdresser scene again, where Angelika, Demonika and Neurotika are still having their hair styled.
Neurotika nods knowingly at Angelika. "Of course that just proves my point about the advantages of staying at home."
Angelika inspects her fingernails, then glances pointedly at Neurotika's ragged red cuticles. "Nonsense, Neurotika darling, the bars all have security systems which make them the safest spots in town, and if you take a cab home, nothing can really happen to you."
Angelika briefly flashes her legendary smile but the camera keeps her at arm's length. She raises an arched eyebrow and corrects herself. "Well, nothing can happen if you behave yourself. A dear, dear friend was killed right in the Syndrome, before my very eyes, for attacking someone there... The disco ball turned into a nasty machine gun... that's their security system."
Angelika does not look as though she mourned her dear, dear friend for very long at all.
Demonika snorts, nostrils flaring in contempt. "Security systems… I suppose you're not going to show the grand climax of Blue's little concerto?"
Demonika grasps a remote control, and points it aggressively at the TRI-V, changing channels to more footage of the Blacklight 90. This time the video data is of noticably inferior quality.
**
The camera zooms in on the picture on the TRI-V. The footage, presumably sourced from the Blacklight 90's security camera shows two new arrivals, Mickey and Blanka, causing trouble towards the end of Blue's concert. Their anti-social actions immediately activate the bar's security system.
As Blanka starts getting aggressive, a turret lowers from the ceiling and pivots towards him. Harold approaches Blanka in a fighting stance and readies his fists.
A Dragon AT-5 missile erupts from Blanka's DaiLung Dragon MMI launcher and roars away, trailing white-hot flames!
Blanka tosses away the empty shell of his expendable DaiLung Dragon MMI launcher.
Cilix shouts, "GET DOWN"
The turret veers wildly and catches fire as a Dragon AT-5 missile blows it nearly in half! It shudders as flame burns away its 5.56mm M249 SAW mount. A glowing, billowing mushroom cloud erupts as the turret is blown to flinders!
Cilix and Piper both place themselves in front of Blue and assume a defensive posture, protecting Blue from attack by Mickey and Blanka.
Mickey's uppercut glances off the side of Piper's head.
Cilix covers Blue's body with his own and wards off the attack!
Blanka throws a swift uppercut, Cilix turns away.
In frustration, Blanka swings with a jab combo, but Cilix's body bends neatly out of the way.
Blanka thrashes his way through the crowd, striving to reach Blue. He shouts something in an unintelligable language, and then explodes like a blood sausage as Piper's AK-97 assault rifle burst slams into Blanka! Blanka perishes in the usual way.
**
The TRI-V in the hairdresser crackles with static as the violent scene ends.
Demonika licks her lips, snapping the remote control like a whip.
Angelika snorts, and leans over smoothly to take possession the remote control, without altering the angle of her crossed legs. "Oh bloody bollocks, Demonika darling, that was hardly a typical event. Let's show them some more normal scenes." She snaps the TRI_V on again, changing channels.
**
The background of the scene on the TRI-V is Club XS. In the foreground is Hallel, a woman of average height and weight sitting with Angelika in the booth. She seems troubled and perhaps a bit uneasy.She has long loose black hair hanging down to her shoulders, a girlish face and sky blue eyes. Her jaw is rigidly set into a pout. Her lips are pursed tightly together and she seems uneasy. Her DNI socket is barely visible near the back of her head. Hallel is wearing a scratched M/N tank-top. A pair of Speedchrome cargo pants are belted around her waist. Her metallic Speedchrome workboots are meticulously shined.
Angelika leans back in the booth, her face hidden behind the camera. "Well, Hallel, my darling. We were just discussing our fantastic social lives here in New Carthage"
Angelika winks suggestively at Hallel. "I must say I've had some real fun in this very club..."
Hallel dares Angelika to spill the beans. "Like what?"
Angelika grins from behind the camera, her face flushing as she remembers some rather interesting times. She gets a grip on herself and straightens her face, changing the topic. "The bartenders and bouncers are not exactly sociable, though..."
Angelika pans the camera quickly across some of the breakfast-time excesses taking place in the club, and focuses it on the bartender, Blaze, who doesn't seem to notice that he is being filmed. The camera sneaks up on him from a slight angle. Short and acrobatically built, Blaze almost glides along the bar, serving drinks with a brilliant grin and a flourish of style. Spiking up dramatically, his flaming red hair seems almost gleeful, as if it has a mind of its own. He wears a tight fitting pair of black jeans and a solid black t-shirt, sleeves rolled up with the bright white letters 'XS' in large,slashing letters across the back. An electric green, his eyes flash when he grins and his smile is hard to resist, always warm and genuine. Always ready with a drink or a quick joke, he slips effortlessly from patron to patron.
Angelika leans lazily on one arm, as she holds the camera up to her eye with the other hand, capturing Hallel's expression. "Of course, I have some rather nasty memories of these bars as well..." She grins broadly "At first I didn't realise people could hide out in here and eavesdrop on whoever had lowered their voices in the booth..."
At the booth, Hallel says. "I got caught out like that too…"
Hallel: " [to Angelika]: "Do you have any other stories about this bar?"
Angelika shifts her fedora up slightly, to get a better view of Hallel, and then chuckles. "I could certainly tell you a couple, darling. The funniest are when men push each other off the booth to be alone with me here."
**
The scene cuts to the booth in the BL90. Ettelbrae, Narcis, and Angelika are sitting in the booth.
Narcis and Ettelbrae are eyeing one another competitively.
Ettelbrae smirks some.. "My f amily are a bunch of run of the mill, corporate consumer pieces of shit… sitting there, in their gothix shirts, eating their soyboy burgers..."
Narcis compulsively checks the time on his chronometer.
Ettelbrae glances at Narcis in irritation "Don't do that again."
Narcis snorts, and then pushes Ettelbrae off the booth.
Angelika swallows, trying to hide her amusement, without much success. "Narcis. Don't be a bad boy now. Apologise to the gentleman."
Ettelbrae laughs as he hits the floor, lies still for a second, and then, slowly standing up, he looks at Narcis. "Pushy aren't you?".
**
The scene cuts back to Angelika and Hallel giggling hysterically in Club XS. Angelika looks up at Hallel, still grinning. "Have you ever seen Mr_E stoned, darling?"
**
Harold is standing here. Oscar is lying on the floor, seemingly unconscious, or in a drugged stupor.
The camera pauses briefly on Mr E (-->?<--), who is clearly stoned!
Angelika takes advantage of this moment to zoom in her camera on Mr E (-->?<-), and you see a guy, just tryin to get by. You can almost smell the stench of skunky-funky rolling out of his pockets. Mr E's face is concealed from plain view. He is wearing a jet black headset and microphone attached to a thin black box at his waist. Falling from Mr E's shoulders is a deep black cloak of Fade mesh. The fibers of the Fade meshcloak seem almost light absorbant, leaving merely the sillhouette of his body for the eye to center on. At his throat is the most visible feature of the cloak, a bright chrome clasp on which is inset a sphere of dark violet. Hanging from a strap across his shoulders is a large black sword scabbard. A pair of fingerless leather gloves enfold his hands, pieces of contoured steel plate protecting the back of Mr E's fingers. A pair of heavy leather combat boots cover his feet and calves. The pair of steel toed boots are laced up to about mid lower leg. A thick steel toe is at the end of the boots, polished and gleaming in the available light.
Angelika sidles over to the bar, leaning on it lazily.
Mr E slides open the door to the DJ booth and steps in..
Mr E kicks up the bass, sending the walls rattling as people bounce to the funky beat.
Oscar revives as the music starts. He turns to Mr E "Ya mon!"
Mr E nods to the crowd. Bobbing his head to the bass beat, he scratches the tables into the rhythmic jam, Jungle Boogie.
Mr E bobs his head do the beat!
Mr E kills the lyrics, as only bass and treble thump the Blacklight back to the old school beats.
Oscar says, "Oldskewl!"
The bass slowly fades as Mr E puts his hand to the headphones ready to smoothly mix in the next heart pounding beat. Changing his mind, Mr E slides open the door of the booth and steps out, bowing gracefully at the waist to his assembled fans.
Oscar [to Mr E]: "Ya mon!"
**
Angelika nods at Hallel "That was the night a MantLion came into the BL90. But I'm not supposed to be talking about that kind of thing, now. At least they still like me at the Blacklight, not like the Syndrome, I got banned from there."
Hallel asks, intrigued "Why is that?"
Hallel leans back in the bright red vinyl seat, resting one hand lightly on the table, looking at Angelika's patent leather trenchcoat with some measure of envy in her eyes.
Angelika shakes her head, clearly not wishing to explore this memory in more detail. "Let's just say it was a little misunderstanding, tempers flared, and now I owe the bouncer 10 000 credits. I was lucky, some people get killed for misbehaving in a bar. Attacking patrons, trying to steal or attempting to frisk or strip someone, those are all no-no's..."
Angelika simulates a pose of remorse, which would perhaps be convincing if you didn't know her better.
The camera shifts, to focus in loving close-up on Angelika's face.
**
As the camera zooms out again,the lighting on her face changes subtly, and the shot fades into a flashback . Angelika's face is framed by the frenetic activity on High Street. Her features glow in the rosy evening light. She stands on the corner, rubbing shoulders with a bizzare mix of punkers, zoners, cromags, and others, who crowd the street from sidewalk to sidewalk. Holo-signs and neon bathe the crowd in a flickering light; faces move by like meat under fast-food heatlamps. Groups accrete and dissolve as biz ripples through the masses; gunshots ring out, and screams go unheeded. Lengthening shadows eclipse the parade of vatgrown faces as the sun sets.
You follow a few steps behind Angelika, as she crosses the road, heading eagerly towards the sound and light spilling from a bar to the south.
Angelika looks about innocently, as she struts into her favourite bar from the street, holding a radio.
Tiny steps into Angelika's way and whispers something into her ear concerning the damages of about 10k which she owes owing to her recent disgraceful behaviour in the bar. Tiny then causes Angelika to leave (forcefully).
Next you see her, utterly humiliated, tumbling out of a nearby doorway and ending up in a pile against a wall. She stands up rapidly, noticing your gaze. She hopes no one important, sexy or interesting saw what happened.
High Street is veiled in darkness as the sun sets, the buzz of the street gradually fading away.
**
Back at the hairdressers, the three women are still sitting under the chrome-plated dryers, which hum quietly in the background.
Angelika preens herself in the mirror, seemingly unaware of the camera.
Neurotika bites a fingernail, disapprovingly, glancing over at Demonika's perfect burgundy talons. "Before people get complacent, though,we should probably mention that not all the bars even have a security system." Neurotika points the remote control at the TRI-V accusingly, and the camera zooms in on the channel she selects.
**
The scene on the TRI-V is the bar at the Pleasure Dome. Bulson, Krys and Jonathan are here, plotting to entrap and murder Iqeu. Angelika, fingernails tapping nervously on the bar, is here to record the event.
Bulson paces around the claustrophobic little space, looking serious. "This is a do or die mission. If we dont complete it we will probobly die. I want you all prepped" He nods curtly at Krys: "See if you can get Iqeu in here, tell him I tried to attack you. My man Jonathon will start the attack, then we all move in."
Angelika turns to Bulson, feigning composure, although the camera is trembling. "Now darling, just explain to me. Why are you prepared to die to kill this poor fellow, Iqeu?"
Bulson looks coolly at Angelika "Iqeu killed two of my men in cold blood."
Bulson continues. "You should also know that where Iqeu goes, Nguyen's tank also goes."
The scene cuts briefly to Nguyen unlocking the doors to his LAV-25 Urban Defender outside the KiNGs alley on Midtown. The light armored vehicle is an all-terrain, all-weather variant of an old US Marine Corps chassis. Block-grey urban camo covers its slanting, wedge-shaped body. Four oversized, self-sealing tires line each side of the vehicle, and rows of reactive armor plating surround its flanks. A medium-capacity turret and infrared spotlight are mounted over its blocky engine compartment.
The close-up on the tank fades out, and the camera pans in over the tense little group in the Pleasure Dome.
Krys glances up briefly from coms, disappointed in his attempt to ensnare Iqeu "He wont come ....he said he's busy..."
Bulson nods at Krys, not taking no for an answer. "Try asking him if he wants you to kill me."
Angelika shakes her head, the silver beads on her wig tinkling, she licks her lips briefly. They have become unaccountably dry. She looks down, fiddling with her camera with shaking fingers.
Bulson gets up and begins searching through the area, in a thorough, meticulous, not to say paranoid manner.
Jonathan jumps, turning around to Bulson "What the hell are you doing?"
Bulson nods calmly: "Making sure nobody uninvited is in here"
Jonathan breathes in audibly "Ah." He gets out his MIA PumpAction 12-Gauge.
Krys smiles briefly "I almost got him now ... give me few more minutes..."
Bulson points to the north and says, to Jonathan: "Keep watch. We don't wanna lose this opportunity. I've also got my decker on the job"
Jonathan grins at Bulson.
Angelika smiles slightly at Bulson. "So what do you and your men do, or is it all terribly hush-hush, this Dejin thing?"
Bulson [to Angelika]: Depends on the situation at hand. Now we are playing a game of mixed honor and revenge."
Angelika leans back lazily on the barstool, nodding. "Ok, darling, I understand. Honor, revenge, all nicely mixed up with ten parts testosterone."
Jonathan: " [to Angelika]: Twelve parts, in fact."
Iqeu suddenly arrives from the north.
Jonathan levels his MIA PumpAction 12-Gauge at Iqeu.
Jonathan chambers a shell in his MIA PumpAction 12-Gauge, the pump action producing ominous *Shik-SHAK* sound, before he aims the barrel in Iqeu's direction and fires.
Bulson leaps at Iqeu with a flying kick!
Iqeu pulls his katana from its sheath.
The blade of Krys's wakazashi gleams wickedly as he rushes at Iqeu!
In one swift, smooth motion, Bulson draws his DaiLung .38 auto and attacks Iqeu.
Blood erupts from the exit-wound in Iqeu's abdomen caused by Bulson's DaiLung .38 auto.
Iqeu's limp body is hurled onto the ground by the force of Jonathan's MIA PumpAction 12-Gauge blast!
Iqeu tries to flee for his life!
An arc of flickering, sparking flesh and microchips fizzes from the depths of Iqeu's body, erupting out of holes in his head.
Iqeu slumps to the ground unconscious, and then, in a matter of seconds, Iqeu's body twitches as the unfortunate soul expires.
Angelika pans the camera over the corpse, and across the bloodied carpet, then focuses briefly on the faces of the three ambushers, capturing their intense, murderous expressions.
As the scene fades slowly to black, you see Nguyen arriving. The assassins vanish into the woodwork, and Nguyen, grunting, picks up Iqeu's body, and walks back out the door.
**
Neurotika shifts about uneasily in her seat, with an "I told you so" look on her face. She looks directly at the camera. "As I said, it's bloody dangerous out there. Probably better to just stay at home in your little coffin and watch D-TV."
At this moment, silence descends on the hairdressing salon, as all three dryers stop humming, and move upwards automatically.
The three clones admire their newly styled hair. Angelika is excessively blonde, Demonika's hair glows unnaturally red, while Neurotika's hair, despite its expensive styling, is clearly falling out in clumps.
Over the salon, an acid-green spray-painted scrawl appears, as if sprayed by an invisible hand: "Zot Cola! Not to be sneezed at!" The camera zooms in on the letters, and the lurid colour soon swallows up the entire screen.

Episode 3: Local attractions: Places to avoid for a while

Demonika swaggers over towards the camera, a promisingly swollen holster strapped to each thigh. She stands, looking down at you, hands on her hips, and legs akimbo. A long red braid falls demurely over her shoulder. She turns around, hands moving down to her holsters for the guns, the lithe movement unfolding in slow motion. Now her guns are out, both firing directly at the camera. Demonika herself is invisible, a black and red blur in the background of the shot. Instinctively, you duck, deafened by the noise and blinded by the shock-waves of the explosions. A loud groan from somewhere behind you indicates that the shots have hit their target. Now the focus shifts to Demonika's face behind the guns, lips parted, she raises them both and eyes them speculatively, with an attitude of professional satisfaction.
The camera zooms out from Demonika, where she stands on New Carthage beach. The gray surf pounds relentlessly on the sand, spraying the camera with cold salty droplets. Drifted refuse litters the beach: syringes, odd bits of wood and plastic, bony fragments. A cold wind blows the surf in tiny waterwhirls across the shore.The beach stretches out east and west, and wooden stairs lead up and back to the city.
You notice Nick Northern for the first time, sitting on the wooden stairs, also watching Demonika. Nick's short blonde hair is piled on his head, locks of hair pointing in random directions. Either he's going for the stylish 'bedhead' look, or he just doesn't care how he looks - probably the latter. His face is still youthful, green eyes above a slim nose, and his mouth naturally seems to curve into a slight grin. His DNI socket is barely visible near the back of his head. Nick wears in a light blue jumpsuit, the front graced only by a seam of velcro running down the left side of the chest. On his back is a large chrome plate, countoured for the shoulders and spine, which is etched with the (In)Famous logo of Gothix Industries.
Eventually Demonika puts her guns away, and turns around, looking directly at you as she blows a long strand of wet hair away from her face. "So, you're the new kid…" Lips parted, eyes glowing, she continues "You want the guided tour of New Carthage? You absolutely have to visit Nirvana..."
Nick Northern catches your eye surreptitiously, and, with an almost imperceptible movement, shakes his head in warning.
**
Sweetie-Pie walks across a dismal stretch of dockside, which runs down to the sea on the north-western edge of the city, in the area of the city known as Nirvana. The fog from outside follows her into an immense almost empty warehouse. She steps into a very old fashioned elevator. Teal green, the lift's paint has been scratched by various impatient occupants.
As the elevator door slides shut behind her, Sweetie-Pie gasps involuntarily, recoiling back from Yazatas, a tall figure draped in a violet-black cloak. He seems to have some eastern features, perhaps Arabian, and his face seems quite weathered. Hawk-like eyes, and sharp features give him a distinctly predatory look. Under his cloak, you occasionally catch the flash of steel, perhaps a gun, or possibly a sword. You also notice the unmistakable outline of high-end body armor under his shadowy apparel. Upon his right hand is a tattoo of a crescent moon and a pair of crossed bones surrounded by a circular snake eating it's own tail. The tattoo might be the symbol of a 'Massikim' enforcer, although it is generally believed that the Massikim are no more than stories told to scare children.
Yazatas, wielding a scimitar, is clearly not too happy to see Sweetie-pie as she arrives in the elevator. He holds his scimitar in a low guarding stance, slowly advancing towards Sweetie-pie with the intent to kill.
Yazatas stabs into Sweetie-Pie's chest with his scimitar. Her flesh shreds under the impact of the scimitar, her chest flayed open by giant, horrifying gashes. The scene fades slowly to black.
**
It is now raining. Nick Northern has moved under an overhang to shelter from the weather, but Demonika stands, face raised to the sky, her red hair in a wet skein down her back, as the acid rain pours down. You watch her for a few seconds from just over her shoulder. Feeling your gaze on her, her head snaps around, her hands instantly snaking back down to the holsters strapped to her thighs. Just in time, she recognises you, and her hands return to her hips, but her smile is uncomfortably close to a sneer.
After eyeing you for a moment, Demonika narrows her eyes sardonically, and then curls a plump lip, her nostrils flaring again. She closes her eyes completely for a moment, lips parted, as the rain sluices down her face. "After that you'll probably want some divine inspiration … do make sure you visit the 'Employees Only' room in Rev Jim's Salvation Inc..."
**
Heavenly music streams from the wide double UStainIT(TM) doors to the north, trickling out from beneath a gigantic loglo advertising the New Carthage franchise of Reverend Jim's Salvation Inc, complete with its moving prayer hands.
Blazing before your eyes is a huge bright blue neon cross tacked to the north wall with large shiny steel bolts, shining back at you with the ecstatic fervour of Reverened Jim's electric glory. The rest of the room is no less subdued, everywhere around you scrolling video displays barrage you with line after line of The Scripture(TM) translation of the Revised Testament. Soft, angelic music filters in through a series of narrow speakers hanging from dangling sockets in the four cardinal directions.
Searching nosily around the suspiciously holy place, Nick is delighted to find a hidden steel door with the words 'Employees Only' inscribed on a plaque. The door hangs loosely on its hinges. Nick hears some noises from the other side of the door. Peering around the door over Nick's shoulder, you see Michael Alpha, who turns on his heel, his eyes fixed on Nick. The scene spins, gradually fading into a whirl of electric colours, as Michael Alpha raises his gun and points it directly at Nick.
A loud, self-righteous voice drowns out the stuttering of several bullets. "Repent!! Repent sinner!! All will be drowned in Gods wrath."
**
Nick looks at Demonika nonchalantly "Well, I'd have to add the sewers to your list of must-sees. I hear there are nasty things down there. Like weird dog-things."
Nick continues lightly. "I just wanted to see the famous 'East Side' but apparently it's well guarded, even down below. I know I went down in the sewers once and didn't come back."
Demonika sucks her cheeks in, looking at Nick with undisguised amusement, and gesturing towards you. "Do tell the new kid all about the doggies."
Demonika focuses the camera closely on Nick, clearly enjoying the feeling of power.
Nick leans forward conspiratorially. "Well, it's just a rumor, but I hear the NCSP has 'enhanced' guard dogs down there. Call 'em Hellhounds."
Nick nods knowingly at you. "You do look like an animal lover."
Demonika notices your embarrassed confusion, and briefly raises one eyebrow, grinning in delight.
**
Sewage drips off Ettelbrae's fingers as he feels his way through the tunnel, somewhere in the sewers of New Carthage. The stench of decaying refuse permeates the air. Ettelbrae sloshes through this section, bits of sewage brushing past his leg. His footing isn't very stable, he is clearly finding it difficult to stay on his feet, and the camera image from his nifty pocket CellularCam veers about crazily with his movements. Peering through the pitch darkness, he searches for the exit. Water rushes down another tunnel to the south.
Ettelbrae's unnaturally pale complexion turns even paler as he notices the NCSP Hellhound 4079, 1411 and NCSP Hellhound 3711 prowling here.
They are massive Rottweilers, heavily muscled. Half of their heads are taken up by the chrome of cybernetic implants, the eyes on that side now merely glowing red orbs. Their front canines, also chromed, overhang their bottom jaw and only add to their deranged air. Rows of metallic armor plates run down their backs, and sensor packs are installed above their shoulders. NCSP Their skin is rippled and stiff, the segmented joints of dermal armor visible just below the surface.
The NCSP Hellhounds growl viciously, all sensors swinging around to focus on Ettelbrae.
All the Hellhounds pounce on Ettelbrae, chomping with their teeth.
NCSP Hellhound 1004's teeth close around Ettelbrae's groin, spraying blood.
NCSP Hellhound 3711's teeth bite strips the flesh from Ettelbrae's left hand!
Blood squirts from Ettelbrae's chest as NCSP Hellhound 4079's teeth tear away a chunk of meat!
Ettelbrae winces, clearly feeling the pain of his broken bones. He manages to slip away from NCSP Hellhound 1004!
NCSP Hellhound 4079's teeth bite strips the flesh from Ettelbrae's right calf!
Ettelbrae attempts to stay on his feet, despite the extreme pain.
NCSP Hellhound 3711's teeth bite deep into the right forearm of Ettelbrae.
Ettelbrae attempts to stay on his feet, despite the extreme pain.
Blood squirts from Ettelbrae's chest as NCSP Hellhound 1004's teeth tear away a chunk of meat!
Ettelbrae attempts to stay on his feet, despite the extreme pain.
The world spins and fades to black before Ettelbrae's eyes...
**
You are walking alongside Demonika and Nick Northern, down Bayfront. You're having considerable difficulty keeping up with Demonika's cracking pace.
Demonika swings on her heel and walks into the BL90, a powerful, relentless beat amplifying her footsteps. She does not remove her black reflective shades.
Demonika nods at you mock seriously. "Once you've visited the doggies in the sewers, you might want to get a little taste of the kitties in the old city."
**
Crazy Cart Lady shouts, "Yaaar!" She snarls, reaches into her cart, and tosses a kitty cat directly at Ettelbrae, who is exploring the old city.
Kitty cat pounces on Ettelbrae, chomping with its teeth.
Kitty cat snaps its teeth at Ettelbrae, who leaps away in time.
Ettelbrae bites hungrily at kitty cat with his teeth, shouting "Here kitty kitty!" Kitty cat screams in pain.
Ettelbrae pounces on kitty cat, chomping with his teeth. His teeth close around kitty cat's chest, spraying blood.
Ettelbrae licks his lips as the blood drips down over his head, watching the cat lay there on the ground as he pokes it..
Ettelbrae bites hungrily at kitty cat with his teeth. His hungry teeth tear kitty cat's chest clean off, as blood spurts from the wound!
Kitty cat slumps down in a crumpled mass of flesh -- dead!
Ettelbrae blinks as he tears the cat in two..
Ettelbrae comes in, wiping the blood from his face as it smears over his right forearm..
Demonika flashes a brilliant smile at Ettelbrae, and then leans over, touching her finger to the blood on Ettelbrae's lips.
**
Demonika swings down from the window on the second floor of the Syndrome, hanging by a slender cord, her long braid dangling behind her. As she lands, she grunts in a decidedly unladylike manner. She sways from one leg to the other, ready to duck in any direction. She hands a small parcel to Nick, a little smile playing around her lips.
Demonika nods at you when she realises the coast is clear. " Oh, and when you do swing by the Old City..."
Nick grins conspiratorially.
Demonika closes her eyes, savouring the thought of something probably best left unsaid. She licks her lips. "... do try out the beer, darling."
**
Ettelbrae arrives from the dusty northern stretch that connects the new city to the old. He passes through Grunge Canyon, breathing a deep sigh of relief, and brushing off his clothes as he shimmies off the slope and onto level ground. Sidestepping a pile of jagged concrete and glass, he walks through Broken Ravine to Buckled Boulevard, onto Ramshackle Road and the crazy-angled sections of shattered roadway, which lead to the north.
When Ettlebrae arrives at Old Eleventh (in Old City), he gets out his disposable micropore mask, and straps it on, wrapping the goggles around his eyes and fitting the filter over his nose and
mouth.
Ettelbrae steps into The Brewery, climbs to the top of the blue stairs in the Main Brewhouse, and makes his way via the Fire Escape to Tank 32B17
Ettelbrae, holding his pocket CellularCam, climbs into the tank from outside. His feet slip out from under him, and he slides down the tank into the murky, stagnant water at the bottom.
Ettelbrae scrambles desperately up the inclined floor towards the hatch, but slides back to fall with a splash into the murky water. The lens of the camera is covered with brown droplets. You can barely make out his words "I can't get out.. the slime shit...its too thick, I can't get up this incline..."
Ettelbrae scrambles desperately up the inclined floor towards the hatch, but slides back to fall with a splash into the murky water. His shouts become more and more desperate "I can't get out... fucking stuck . I can't get out.. I CAN'T GET OUT!"
Ettelbrae scrambles desperately up the inclined floor towards the hatch, but slides back to fall with a splash into the murky water. He groans hoarsely, his voice muffled by the micropore mask, "No! This can't be happening!"
For a good hour, Ettelbrae periodically scrambles up the inclined floor towards the hatch, only sliding back to fall with a splash into the murky water.
Eventually, in desperation, Ettelbrae removes his Thrash super denim duster, and drops it into the bottom of the stinking tank.
Ettelbrae gasps as he rushes up, finally managing to yank himself up out of the tank. He scrambles out of the tank hatch gasping for air, emerging into Cellar 32B.
**
At the corner of Hitachi and High, Demonika is on guard, her legs akimbo, as she straddles the corpse of her latest victim. Her face is immobile, only her eyes follow you. They slide after you as you shift uneasily away. Still watching your movements, she takes a utility knife from her breast pocket, preparing it for use. Noticing your look, she sighs in disdain, raising one very slightly disgusted eyebrow. "If you're so bored, new kid, why don't you go visit Dirty Richard, he'll show you around the Under City?"
Nick Northern sniggers at you as he leans lazily against the Memorial Plaque, watching.
**
Ettelbrae comes up against an old rotted wooden door, the metal reinforcements barely holding it together. The layers of sewer sludge probably help the cohesive effects. Ettelbrae pushes the door aside, and sees Dirty Richard on the other side, but climbs through it anyway, attempting to escape the sewage. A pocket of air trapped in the onslaught of the massive quake has become a dirty old basement. Piles of clothes, most of them women's clothing, are heaped in the corner, next to a stack of hard core porn magazines and an ancient Television Set with built in VCR. Among the clothing, several pairs of women's panties have been hung on the walls, next to them are black and white photos, or missing persons fliers. Dirty Richard sits on his rocker, it creaks gently, as he stares back at you with black sockets. He is a frail old man, barely alive. Bits of black and orange mold sprout up from his wrinkled forehead. Chipped plastic mesh bones extend outward from a shallow, knobby chest. The metallic glints of his skinned knuckles and knees, and his clockwork, robotic breathing and bulging yellow eyes seem to hint at the idea that he may be more machine than man.
Ettelbrae arrives from the wooden door to the east, shaking off sludge and sewage.
Dirty Richard approaches Ettelbrae in a fighting stance and readies his fists, and the scene fades to black.
**
From above the city, the camera swoops down onto the grey concrete rooftops of New Carthage. Demonika and Nick Northern are standing on the roof of Securitech, looking over the city through obscenely large zoom lenses. They focus on a Maelstrom Hovercycle carrying two small figures out of the city, towards the Northern Wastes.
Demonika turns towards you, smiling, and offers you a look through her camera. "What a pity darling, you're missing out on a joyride to the Wastes!"
**
On the Hovercycle, Angelika's long hair whips around her face in the wind, and she screeches wildly, her bare arms clinging tightly onto Ymir_Erikson. Eyes closed completely, cheeks burning, she leans over to one side, as they round a corner into South Joseki without diminishing speed. The shot frames Angelika and Ymir_Erikson tightly, as if you are accompanying them on the joyride. The intimacy of the shot feels pleasantly voyeuristic and somewhat exhilarating.
Angelika is battling to keep her zebra-striped fedora on her head. She seems somewhat inappropriately dressed for an outing to the Wastes. Ymir_Erikson's attire is less incongruous. He is over 2 meters tall, and built like an ox. Grey eyes look out into the world from behind a heavy brow. Blond hair is pulled back into two shoulder-length braids, flying out behind him in the wind. A short blonde beard attempts to hide his chin from the world. He wears a rigid looking Tigre jacket, constructed of formidable leather and battle graded macroplastic plating, bearing a stylized chromium battleaxe, underscored with the 'Siggerson' name. Covering the entire length of his right arm is a 'Dieval pauldron. A leather strap loops over his shoulders.
Ymir Erikson's hands on the Hovercycle are covered by a strange pair of gauntlets that seem to have long blades attached.
Ymir Erikson steers the Maelstrom Hovercycle into the Lost Highway (in the Zones) with a loud rumble. Cracked asphalt, twisted highway signs, and the corpse of a rusted old car race past you, in the blurred periphery of your vision you momentarily register a weathered route marker labelled 'Route 66'.
A ruined landscape frames Ymir and Angelika as they straddle the Maelstrom Hovercycle together, speeding off away from the camera along the ruined highway that leads to the Northern Wastes. It is soon oddly quiet, and their figures recede rapidly into the distance. To the north you spy the outskirts of the ruined city, and to the east, shallow water splashes against crumbling buildings, while the endless sea borders the road on the west.
**
As Ymir_Erikson and Angelika zip by en route to Junktown, you see brief images of a wasted landscape and its mutant creatures.
The nearby ash rumbles and arcs with static electricity. A whirlpool of collapsing dirt forms nearby and a giant creature emerges from the cloud of dust. A monstrous MantLion Drone clicks its pincers loudly, charging at Angelika in a futile rage, as the Hovercycle flashes past in a blur of black and crimson.
A fat-headed mutant reptile with stubby legs leaps from a diseased, dying tree, emitting a loud chirp. The mutant banded gecko pounces on Ymir Erikson, chomping with its teeth, but missing its rapidly moving target.
The bike flies down its programmed path, dodging any obstacles with unnerving speed.
**
You look up at a sleek, black & chrome aerodyne racing machine. The Maelstrom Hovercycle hovers inches from the ground, throwing a cloud of exhaust fumes into your face, the dual turbines rumbling obnoxiously loudly. Its dual turbines spit a minimal blue-green flame as it idles with a high pitched whine. The oversized titanium-alloy frame looks tough and armored, having taken a beating from daily life in the 'Zone. Scrawled across the sides, the word 'Maelstrom' gleams in blood spilt crimson color. A long smooth leg swings over the seat, as Angelika dismounts unsteadily. You gaze up at her as Ymir_Erikson helps her off the vehicle. Ymir's legs frame the shot briefly, they are somewhat intimidatingly encased in crimson and black leather greaves and light tan combat boots. He shifts out of the shot, carrying himself in a slow, careful manner.
Behind Angelika you see the Intersection in Junktown, with a few locals passing, carrying goods from Main Street back to their hovels, a barely-working fountain is visible at the very edge of the shot.
Angelika gasps something inaudible in a hoarse voice, leaning heavily on Ymir_Erikson. Her swollen tongue is cracking and burning in her dry mouth; and every pore of her body screams for water. The camera zooms in on her, capturing her distress as she again tries to speak through parched and cracked lips, "I desperately need something to drink, darling."
**
Somewhat later, in a Junktown bar, Angelika seems to have made a remarkably quick recovery, and is drinking a bloody mary. She looks briefly, and appreciatively, at her reflection in Ymir Erikson's steel helmet, then glances over to Ymir Erikson again. "So tell us more about why I almost died of thirst on our way here."
Angelika drinks her bloody mary with unseemly gulps, feeling more light-headed as the terrible thirst slowly recedes.
Ymir Erikson nods at Angelika, "Da thirst.....id is da heat, an da radiation, I am told. Dere are rivers oud dere, bud none dat I vould drink from. Strange land dat glows in da nighd, brighter den da full moon."
Ymir Erikson drinks some of his beer, getting froth all over his lips.
Angelika smiles at Ymir Erikson, gratefully, taking a more genteel sip of the bloody mary, which nonetheless leaves a red smudge on her upper lip, making her look somewhat vampirish. She nods at Ymir's explanation "Do tell... What would have happened if we hadn't had something to drink, darling?"
Ymir Erikson shrugs at Angelika. "Vell, you eventually black oud. Fall
asleep, cannod move. You can stay in dat state for days. Eventually, you die, your throat turned to dust."
Ymir Erikson drinks some of his beer, getting froth all over his lips.
Angelika breathes in sharply, and quickly licks the liquid off her upper lip, with a definite red glint in her eye. "Awful...And, darling for the benefit of our audience, who are newcomers to New Carthage, why did you tell me to bring along a green derm on our little expedition?"
Ymir Erikson chuckles at Angelika. "Green derms stop bleeding. And bleeding is a bad ding to happen, vhen dere is no doctor for miles, an you have a vhasteland biker chasing you, or an angry cougar jumping ad you."
**
A Matabushi Vampire roars in from the east at full speed.
Piston kicks her Matabushi Vampire around, and brandishes her scimitar as she drives the bike straight towards Angelika Ransfield.
Deep gouges and dents ripple the surface of the Matabushi Vampire, its panels buckling from the impact of Ymir Erikson's duro axe.
The Matabushi Vampire breaks apart into a sparking, fiery pile of debris.
Piston's unconscious body skids across the ground, trailing smoke!
**
Angelika does not notice a cougar stalking above until it is too late.
Cougar's claws flash evilly as it pounces on Angelika!
Ymir Erikson surveys the area and begins keeping watch on Angelika, he covers Angelika's body with his own and wards off the cougar's attack!
Cougar's claws scratch deep lines across Ymir Erikson's chest armor.
Ymir Erikson reaches into his axe sling and pulls out a duro axe. He advances on the cougar and spins his duro axe in a wicked, blurred curve of steel.
The engine on Angelika's Maelstrom Hovercycle surges as Angelika wields her fists and charges the cougar.
Angelika has to swerve her bike at the last second; her fists attack misses cougar by a mile.
Ymir Erikson [to Angelika]: "I'd recommend gedding off."
Angelika swings her leg over the Maelstrom Hovercycle and slides off.
Maelstrom Hovercycle stops its rumbling as it automatically shuts off.
Ymir Erikson covers Angelika's body with his own and wards off the attack! He skillfully dodges under Cougar's claws.
Angelika throws a haymaker at the cougar which goes far aside.
Cougar leaps aside as Ymir Erikson launches a massive, two-handed duro
axe swing. Cougar narrowly avoids the chop of Ymir Erikson's duro axe, and swings its claws at Ymir Erikson, nicking his head.
Ymir Erikson growls at the cougar. "You god one. Your lasd."
Cougar's claws attack does no damage as Ymir Erikson's armor holds up
under the strike.
Angelika starts sweating noticably.
Ymir Erikson steps forward, grunting with the exertion of his swing, and drives his duro axe directly through the top of cougar's head.
The proud feline falls over with a loud thump, a soft sound escaping from its corpse.
Ymir Erikson runs his fingertip along the cut at his temple. "Cat vas good."
Ymir Erikson [to Angelika]: Dat scabbard of yours is empty, den?
Angelika grins gratefully, and flashes an admiring smile as she looks sidelong at the gigantic Ymir Erikson, twirling a lock of ridiculously blonde hair. "No darling, but I'd hate to get blood on my pretty sword."
**
Back on the rooftop of Securitech, you watch nervously as Demonika climbs up from the floor below. Her face distorts into a grimace as she pulls herself up onto the roof with a supreme effort, breathing in audibly, and then leaping down to join you on the flat concrete surface.
Still panting slightly, she smiles slightly at you, small beads of sweat forming on her forehead. "New kid… you're still here? Thought you'd have positively died of fright by now."
Demonika moves suddenly closer to you, hands snaking down to her bulging holsters, drawing her guns in one fluid movement. Her eyes do not leave you for an instant.
Nick Northern, as if by some secret signal, materialises right behind you.
Demonika smiles, elegant nostrils flaring, the barrels of her two guns blocking out most of your field of vision. "Ooops darling, I forgot to mention that the most bloodthirsty creatures in the wastes are absolutely nothing on the ones we have right here in New Carthage."
**

Episode 4: A brilliant career for you in New Carthage

You see Angelika in close-up, through a pair of powerful binoculars. She turns around, looking directly at you. She smiles ravishingly, and motions you closer with an expressive gesture of her hand. She wears a tight black sleeveless t-shirt, printed with the words "Bowl-a-Rama", in fluorescent pink lettering across the chest. She winks mischievously at you, raises a finger to her lips, and indicates that you should follow her.
**
You peek through the window of a small, smoke-filled office of the Bowl-a-Rama building on North Hitachi, watching as Angelika enters through the north.
Kingpin, sitting at a desk is wearing a self-satisfied smug smile over his pasty fat face, He puffs away on a well-besotten cigar, ashes dusting down his Armani suit. He fancies himself a crimelord, though everyone knows he's the puppet of forces far greater.
Kingpin looks up as Angelika enters his office and mumbles something you can't quite make out as the door swings shut.
Kingpin asks, "So you're cut off, ya hear?"
Angelika smiles slightly at Kingpin. "No no darling, I'm not here for a job."
Kingpin: "So what the hell ya want?"
Angelika moves over to Kingpin's desk, leaning on it lazily, and glances up at Kingpin. "I'd love you to interview you about the employment opportunities you offer new arrivals"
Kingpin asks something you can't make out, his face bearing an irritated, slightly paranoid expression.
Angelika shifts over to sit on Kingpin's desk. "I'd never do that darling. Just think what I owe you."
Kingpin sits up and leans forward at the desk, glaring coldly.
Angelika: "You gave me a leg up when no one else would look at me twice."
Kingpin takes a puff off his cigar. "Yeah, but I don't really want someone writing in some trashy rag."
Angelika shakes her head, sucking in her cheeks. Her voice takes on the same strangely mumbling tone as Kingpin's.
Kingpin sighs and mutters again.
Angelika shifts over on the desk, sitting more comfortably, glancing at Kingpin sidelong. "Well darling. Couriering is a perfectly respectable calling, you know."
Kingpin nods, slipping back in his chair. "I guess."
Angelika dangles her leg next to the cheap desk, taking out her camera. "Now. Try to look friendly and welcoming." She winks conspiratorially at Kingpin.
Kingpin: "So whatcha wanna know?"
Angelika focuses in on Kingpin's face, and his cigar. "I'd like to introduce our audience to you, Kingpin darling." she turns to the camera "Kingpin can offer you employment when you first arrive in town." she grins "Do tell them about the job opportunities here at Bowl-a-Rama, darling."
Angelika zooms the camera out slightly from the rather unflattering close-up. A cloud of cigar-smoke softens Kinpin's features.
Kingpin puffs a few times on his stale cigar. "There's not so much available in this city. The economy's sucked since Zero Day. Fuckin' factories get people cheap, treat 'em like dirt, and get a fuckin' new pack to abuse. So there ain't much in the way of work. Sometimes I need a helping hand or two around here, that's all."
The north opens from the other side.
Takigawa, holding a credstick and a scotch, enters the office through the open doorway to the north.
Takigawa is wearing a high quality free flowing silk shirt, and a pair of soft leather pants are belted around his waist.
Kingpin says, "Howdy, chummer. Takigawa ain't it? Yeah, I know ya."
Kingpin says, "Sorry chummer. I don't have anythin' fer ya. Come back later."
Takigawa steps through the office doorway, returning to the bowling alley.
The north swings shut.
Kingpin says, "Heh, economy sucks so much, sometimes I ain't even got work for chummers like dat."
Angelika grins. "Darling, I learnt it helps to keep on trying, though. And if you couldn't help me, the pretty lady in the Intrigue sometimes could."
Kingpin sighs softly, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, but some are just stupid. Lounging about, walking through my door like it's a revolvin' door or some shit."
Angelika glances at Kingpin, flashing another smile, trying to keep him talking. "Must drive you bananas darling! What other places can newcomers go if they're looking for work, apart from Bowl-a-Rama and Janya's casino?"
Kingpin puts out his cigar, dipping it into a box of garbage a few times, making sure it's out.
Kingpin pulls a new cigar out of a half-empty box, and lights it with an old Zippo. "There ain't much else. Gunshin and Gensyn take migrant workers, Alice's place sometimes takes dishwashers, sometimes people can get work as a janitor."
Kingpin: " [to Angelika]: Sometimes various people in the Gist Order or Southland Cartel look for people to act as mules. Not that I'd know anything about that type of business."
Kingpin: "I'm a reputable businessman, after all."
Angelika smiles as she eyes Kingpin's cigar, and then nods at Kingpin seriously. "Absolutely darling. Whereas you offer a fulfilling part-time couriering career for so many of our citizens."
Kingpin glares at Angelika "I SAID... I don't know anything about mules or that line of biz. Ya hear? I certainly wouldn't be running a numbers racket or such here. Chummers who come here work honest jobs.
Angelika shifts off Kingpin's desk. "Oh darling, don't be so edgy." she grins.
Kingpin [to Angelika]: There's a few other jobs about town, if you'ld like to talk more `bout that.
You exclaim, "Naturally darling!"
Kingpin leans back in his desk, the chair creaking painfully. "A few chummers who come in here and bowl regularly work for NCI, PR, NCSP, and all them megacorps. They hire more rough and tumble folks than the others, less strict dress code. Fuckin' people off the street, just about, since they need people who can rumble. Thugs and street walkers are two of the oldest jobs since the fuckin' dawn of fuckin' time."
Angelika nods seriously. "Oh, thuggery is awfully popular around here..."
Kingpin says, "Deckers, that's one thing I'm not too familiar with. I got a matrix site, like everyone else, but I don't browse much. I ain't no console cowboy nerd, but they can be useful."
Angelika: "snoopy, sneaky fellows darling. Always peeking and poking."
Kingpin smiles, "And I guess cyberdocs and counsellors go hand in hand."
Kingpin says, "Yeah, and there's always pickpockets."
Angelika nods in disgust. "We're not promoting that though darling!"
Angelika . o O ( Wouldn't want too much competition now )
Kingpin [to Angelika]: Ever meet Six?
Angelika rolls her eyes. "Darling, you know I only just arrived here a couple of months ago."
Kingpin puffs on his cigar, sending a thick stale smoke at the camera. "Six was a good chummer. Quiet. He used to walk around, cleaning people's apartments and stores. Ever been to the BlackLight 90?"
Angelika nods wryly. "I think I subsidise it"
Kingpin moves a stack of papers on his desk, pulling out a crumpled napkin and wiping the sweat from his brow with it.
Angelika . o O ( Thank God I don't have to suck up to him everyday anymore. )
Angelika: "Tell me about Six, Kingpin darling."
Kingpin [to Angelika]: That used to be just another decrepit old warehouse on Bayfront, just like all the other docks and warehouses on that road. Some choombah of mine, Lucky, bought the place. Hired Six to clean it up, hired a few contractors I know to outfit it, and made it into the club it is today.
Kingpin [to Angelika]: Six still works around here, cleanin' up shit. He works for the Syndrome sometimes.
Angelika smiles slightly, obviously entirely underwhelmed. "Fascinating darling."
Kingpin says, "Seriously. It was a rat-infested shell of a decayin' concrete mess."
Kingpin exclaims, motioning with his hands. "Now it's a major nightspot. Thanks to Lucky and Six. Mostly Lucky."
Angelika nods at Kingpin, nostrils flaring. "So darling, are you saying we could all do something that impressive if we just kept working at it?"
Kingpin guffaws loudly, coughing and gagging on his cigar. "Haw! This ain't no afterschool tri-v special. You want the real answer to that? No. Most of us will end up as gutter trash. Food for the rats that used to inhabit that warehouse, chewed up by MantLions or thugs."
Angelika looks at Kingpin in irritation. "Oh bloody hell, you don't have to actually say that to the poor darlings!"
Angelika: "Give them something to aspire to! Even if it's just your Armani suit."
Kingpin makes an evil leer at Angelika. "I'm not gonna coddle the children."
Angelika pans the mediacam over Kingpin's expensive outfit, ignoring his rude look. "From what I remember, Kingpin, darling, you do coddle them. You sometimes even gave me a bit extra, for no particular reason." She glances knowingly at Kingpin.
Kingpin ignores Angelika's glance, taking a slow drag off his cigar. "So yeah, that's the state of employment in this stinking polluted overcrowded town.
Angelika nods seriously at Kingpin. "And naturally darling, it's all squeaky clean." She winks broadly at you, still watching through the window, as she blows a kiss at Kingpin and smartly leaves the smoky little office .
**
You are eavesdropping on the booth in the Club XS, where, in a relatively quiet corner of the bar, Angelika is interviewing Danny, a new arrival in New Carthage, who's been here only a week. Angelika occasionally gives a sign indicating that she is aware of your presence.
Angelika leans back lazily in the booth, framing Danny carefully in the shot. Danny has short blonde hair, and blue eyes. His facial features are sharp, and his eyes knowing. Strapped to Danny's back is a trusty Uzi Mini-3.
Angelika smiles approvingly, noticing Danny's newly acquired gear. "Well darling, I can see you haven't been wasting your time since I last saw you... Now do tell me everything that's happened to you since you arrived... from Neo-Chicago, was it?"
Danny shrugs "Well its a depressing story but here it goes... I had left Neo-Chicago to get away from problems I had run into..."
Angelika tosses back her loose hair over her shoulders, nodding at Danny encouragingly, while panning the camera down from Danny's face, focusing briefly on the brand new shiny Uzi. Danny wears a thick padded jacket, coloured drab green. It closes in front by means of three straps crossing the chest and abdomen, secured with clasps along the lapel. Strapped to his shoulders, is a small black ammo belt. For the rest, Danny's outfit is something of a giveaway of the fact that he is recently arrived in town. His layered urban jeans are loosely cut, and he is wearing a pair of outdated glitter combat boots.
Danny begins slowly, but his gestures are sleek and precise "I came here in hopes of getting a better job and lifestyle... No such luck there... I hadn't been here 2 hours and I was already in trouble again..."
Angelika leans forward on the black acrylic table in the booth, the bright red vinyl seat squeaking slightly. She nods briefly at Danny. "What an awful welcome, darling. Who was the welcoming committee?"
Danny looks at Angelika, not quite catching her eye "It seems I had spoken to the wrong people about getting some weapons..."
Bubba, the club's bouncer must overhear the conversation, as he eyes Danny, flexing his muscles slowly.
Angelika zooms the camera in on Danny's face as Danny speaks, cutting Bubba's usual posturing right out of the shot. She smiles at Danny again, reassuringly, speaking very loudly, to be heard over the din of the club. "Now darling, you don't need to mention names, one shark is pretty much like another, and they die like flies around here anyway. But do tell us what you did, what they didn't like, and what happened to you in the end..."
Danny hesitates briefly. "Well like I was saying... I had asked the wrong person about getting a few weapons. You of all people know what this city is like... Without protection..."
Angelika nods sardonically, nostrils flaring. "A defenceless young lady like myself knows that all too well." Then she grins, knowingly.
Danny shrugs, wearily, looking down at the table. "Well, what happened to me was that I met up with the guy in question. He showed me the weapon I had intended on buying, then the bastard held me up... He got all the creds I had..."
Angelika snorts "The bloody monster!" Her loud exclamation causes some interference on the recording. She stands up in the booth to get a high angle on Danny, cutting the rather nasty Uzi out of the shot, thus emphasizing a certain vulnerably boyish quality about Danny's face.
Danny looks down, then up at Angelika, glancing dully at the camera "I put my resume' into a few places, and put one into the local unemployment office, the one on south Fuji. I had even put a resume' into the NCSP, talk about low..."
Angelika nods seriously at Danny, particularly sympathetic when poor Danny mentions the possibility of working for the NCSP. "Darling, you should be more patient. It took me more than five months to..." She coughs "...'earn' any serious creds. And right now I'm over my ears in debt...."
Angelika zooms the camera back quickly, the focus jerking away from Danny's face, to take in the entire club with its noisily milling crowd and the famous erotic dancers.
Danny raises an eyebrow at Angelika, "Well, after the bastards ripped me off I knew that it was going to be a battle, so I decided to go to the Family for help."
Angelika sits down on the table just across from Danny. "Jolly good idea darling. You're nothing on your own in this town. And did that work out better?"
Danny replies, nonchalantly, "Nah, didn't turn out the way I had hoped.. I ended up pissing the boss off and he's kinda still pissed at me... I had taken a few packages that were rather expensive, and I ... lost them."
Angelika looks skeptical, but shakes her head briefly. "Uh oh... Rotten luck there"
She then nods somewhat vaguely at Danny, trying hard not to allow her ignorance to show. "You're in the thuggery line, aren't you?"
Danny: " [to Angelika]: I was more of a drug dealer for the jerks down on Pullman. Well I was till I had my stash stolen from me by that dimwitted idiot and freak Iqeu..."
Angelika chuckles with delight, zooming the camera in on Danny's direct and angry gaze. "Oh darling, how awful." Her gaze scans the bar rather too quickly.
Danny nods "The fucking dildo, that bastard Iqeu stole my entire stash, the only means of income I had. Pardon the language."
Angelika smiles lightly at Danny. "Iqeu has some friends with very big guns darling. So do avoid him in future..."
Danny continues "Well, he kinda held my stash hostage at first. He wanted me to help him and... shit... ummm... someone called Lam Nguyen, yeah that was his name, they wanted me to set up another guy... I agreed only because those packages were my only source of income."
Angelika nods somewhat too vehemently, still obviously uneasy "I do understand, but look on the bright side, darling, your skills are clearly in demand."
Danny ignores Angelika's comment, intent on the story of his betrayal. "After the set-up failed, Iqeu fucking ran off with my shit. Yet again, apologies for the language. I'm not usually this crude, but that guy really pissed me off..."
Angelika nods at Danny, zooming in on his intensely angry, even desperate face.
Danny continues, his eyes cold. "After the whole drug thing went down hill I lost a lot of my confidence. Now, I'm a guy who doesn't care anymore and needs a job that suits my nature..."
**
Angelika takes the remote control away from you, gently, but firmly, and switches off the TRI-V. She is still wearing the "Bowl-a-Rama" t-shirt and she leans over you, pulls you up off the couch, and then quickly opens the door, letting the cold, misty air in. She wags a finger at you. "Enough now, darling! Off your bloody backside, and go get a job." The door slams in your face.

Episode 5: Finding a place to stay

The opening shot fades in on a rather disreputable venue, the bar of New Carthage's notorious Pleasure Dome. The music blares at a volume that resounds in your insides, whipping its way through the smoke-filled shadowy den of lust.
Demonika winks at the camera with some malice, as she introduces little Draya, a new arrival in New Carthage. Sweet little Draya has been treading the dangerous streets and alleyways of New Carthage for barely a week, and is explaining to Demonika the difficulties she has experienced trying to find accommodation suitable for an naccompanied young lady such as herself.
The camera focuses lovingly on young Draya, caressing her shapely form in a manner not entirely appropriate for a documentary.
Draya seems angry as she tells her story "In the beginning, when I first arrived here, I had no idea where to go, so I slept in alleyways...It always stank."
Draya looks back at the camera with a sweet young face, "But I had nowhere to go. Then I learned that you could stay in the coffins for free if you didn't have no money, like me."
Demonika nods encouragingly at Draya, her long burgundy fingernails tracing a line along the marble bar.
Demonika nods at Draya. "What happened then, Draya my sweetie?"
Draya looks at the camera with a flush of embarrassment, "I got put in detention for being a vagrant. It cost me almost all my money to get out, and I didn't get a lot to eat that day."
Draya straightens her back and looks serious, "Now I have to stay in those expensive coffins. I don't know what they'll do if I get caught by the cops again..." She looks chagrined again, "I have been to the police station a few times before."
Demonika shakes her head, smiling ironically at poor little Draya. "You mean they took you into the detention cell, darling? What an introduction to our city. Where did they arrest you?"
Draya: "I was staying in an alleyway when they took me away. I knew where the coffins were, but ... I was too afraid to cross town."
Demonika sucks in her cheeks a bit, perhaps suppressing a little smile. "Ah. You were too afraid to cross town. That's a poor reflection on our hospitality. Which coffins did you discover, if I may ask?"
Draya: "I knew about the ones above the Syndrome...I saw some people going there. Some of the other people I met on the street also told me I could go there."
Draya juts her chin out, glancing accusingly at the camera, "There are some really bad people out there though, and I don't always listen to what they say!"
Draya turns her attention to Demonika, holding the camera, "I am sorry, I had to say that, Miss Demonika." Draya says.
Demonika shakes her head, in an exaggerated manner. "Have some nasty men been taking advantage of your young and innocent state, Draya, my sweetie darling?"
Draya appears shocked and a little embarrassed, and then whispers, "well, yes...sorta...I uh..." turning her attention to Miss Demonika "Do you really want me to tell all about that?"
Demonika pretends to be slightly taken aback by Draya's suggestion. "No darling, this is family programming. So perhaps we should leave this particular topic now, with a clear warning of the dangers of vagrancy for new arrivals in our friendly city. In particular, the dangers of vagrancy for young, pretty, females like yourself..." For an instant, you could swear that Demonika might be licking her lips, but you're probably mistaken.
The camera caresses its all-time favourite, Demonika, who is clearly aware of the lens zooming in on her.
Demonika seems to be on patrol, wearing a retro police cap with a golden badge. The cap conceals most of her features, revealing only a strong jawline, generous mouth, and a long braided rope of unnaturally blonde hair. Her commanding appearance suggests you should obey her every whim.
Demonika, tearing her gaze away from the camera, nods sympathetically at Draya. "So, Miss Draya, if you don't mind telling me, do you still stay above the Syndrome?"
Draya: " [to Demonika]: Yeah, I stay there, or in some burnt out places in the old city...I am kinda afraid that someone will lock me up again though."
Demonika flashes a knowing smile at Draya. "The Syndrome can get a bit ... expensive after you've been here a few days though. Did you know that you have other, less expensive options?"
Draya seems a bit uncomfortable. Draya says, "No, what other options?"
Demonika takes Draya's slender dark hand in hers, stroking it absently as she moves, langourously standing up from the bar. "Well, darling. I'll show you where you can get a lovely coffin, in a relatively pleasant neighbourhood, for 25c a day."
Draya rises from the bar.
Draya moves to follow Demonika, as she goes down the spiral staircase to the Coffin Bay from the Pleasure Dome bar.
The camera wanders unsteadily, as Demonika steps daintily down the tight little steps. It briefly catches the alluring shadows of the two women's high-heeled boots flickering across the walls, then finally comes to rest in a dimly lit space, the Coffin Bay at the Pleasure Dome. You notice for the first time that Demonika's thigh-high shiny PVC boots are each studded with a row of 2-inch black spikes, which run from heel to mid-thigh along the outside of each boot. The hard shine of the boots and their spiky silhouette draw attention to sleek brown upper thighs. The effect is glamorous, unsettling, and not very cuddly.
Three of the four walls of this area are taken up by coffin bays. The coffins are stacked up four high and a dozen across. People come and go, sliding in and out of the small cubes. A sign hung near the stairs read, "Please maintain silence. Thank you."
Draya looks around and says "This would be a lot better than those crummy ones I was in!"
Draya: "But I thought you had to work here to use these?"
Demonika points at the coffins, chuckling at Draya. "Oh darling. You certainly shouldn't try to work here! And, yes, these coffins are really lovely. I used to stay here myself"
Draya exclaims gratefully. "Hey, thanks, Miss Demonika."
Demonika nods, encouragingly. "Go on, girl, give it a try."
Draya slides her credstick into coffin 202.
Demonika smiles slightly at Draya. "Fabulous, darling. Now get in."
Draya wears a face of frustration and exclaims, "I can't open it!"
Demonika shrugs at Draya. "You must have given it a code to rent it, use that"
Draya smacks her forehead and says "Sometimes I am such a nimrod."
Draya slides her credstick through the rental terminal and punches in a new access code.
Draya smiles happily.
Demonika smiles encouragingly at Draya. "Wonderful." She winks, looking knowingly at Draya from under the lowered brim of her police cap. "Now, darling, try it out for size"
Draya climbs into coffin 202.
Demonika crawls into the coffin.
You are cramped within the low-rent choice of our modern generation: A 1.5 meter cube of smoked plastic and a rough plastifoam mattress.
Draya: " [to Demonika]: Wow, this is a tight fit...but much nicer than the other ones."
Demonika squeezes into the remaining space, crowding up, perhaps uncomfortably close to Draya. She smiles a little smile. "They have the same thing below Club XS, sweetheart. But these are cheaper, and ...", she winks, "The great advantage here is, darling, the coffin may be small, but it does fit two..."
Draya moves to make room for Demonika beside her "Snuggle inhere." Draya whispers to Demonika.
Draya exclaims "At last, a place to call my own!"
Demonika chuckles at Draya, her expensive perfume filling the tiny little space. "Darling, darling, I am so happy for you... But ... before we forget ourselves, remember that our first consideration is safety. First things first, darling. Close the coffin now. That's so important!"
Draya slides the coffin door closed.
Demonika's black latex-clad shape moves in front of the camera lens, as she approaches Draya, smiling only slightly, but with a definite red glint in her eye.

Part II: Meeting Local Celebrities: The Bad, the Good, and the Gorgeous

Episode 6: Two Bad Mice: Ulysses and Skinner

Angelika is standing with windswept hair, holding the guardrail on the deck of a rusted hulk of a ship somewhere out at sea. She raises one slender hand and grips the brim of her zebra-striped fedora, smiling for the camera. "Hello darlings! For the next couple of episodes we'll be introducing you to the bad boys of New Carthage. Whether you're a wannabe thug in training, or merely their potential victim, you'll agree that there's a lot we can learn from these wicked chaps."
Angelika smiles at you with some excitement. "Now, I should probably mention that my friends in the NCSP and the NCPK would give their eye teeth to be where I am this afternoon." Angelika addresses the camera directly, "But darlings, I'm afraid I didn't invite you along, because, well, I have this crazy dream of living long enough to buy my own limo. Join us today as we interview Ulysses Brandt, and Jake Skinner, two men who've been terrorizing our city with remarkable dedication over the past few months, and who've rather successfully evaded the clutches of the law..."
Angelika nods seriously. "I first met Jake when I interviewed him about Parallel Resurrection, where he worked as a pilot. I imagined he was rather a good chap because he recovered all my possessions for me after an unfortunate mugging - down to the last flimsy piece of underwear, mind you."
Angelika glances sideways briefly. "Of course my judgement is always clouded when it comes to good-looking men, but Jake Skinner seemed the perfect corporate drone, apart from his loud Hawaiian shirt. "
Angelika continues, raising her voice as a gust of wind beats against the rusting shell of the ship. "For several months New Carthage spoke fearfully of a frighteningly effective gunship that brought death to prominent residents of the city. Not many guessed that the pilot of the gunship was PR's dutiful Jake Skinner."
**
The scene cuts to the BL90. Angelika looks at Mr E from under the brim of her fedora. "Darling when are you going to let me get some footage of you in your limo?"
Mr E [to Angelika]: As soon as it's not in jeapordy of being blown away by a ...uh... "bigger" vehicle..
Angelika grins at Mr E. "Now darling, who would do that?"
Mr E [to Angelika]: If you can find out, i'll pay you dearly.
Oscar asks, "Speaking of which, anybody seen da gunship lately?"
Mr E nods to Oscar, and says to Angelika, "That's what I'm talkin about."
Oscar says, "Ya mon, trippy shit"
Oscar says, "I followed it around for about 15 minutes yesterday, it kept scanning me and whotnot."
Mr E turns to Oscar sardonically: "You're lucky"
Raul turns to Oscar, briefly taking his eyes off Angelika. "What is it armed with?"
Oscar answers, "90mmlbx, and probably otha things but they were retracted"
Mr E says, "I don't know who the fuck is flying the thing"
Raul says, "That's pretty fuckin big for a plane"
Angelika arches a brow at Mr E. "Bloody hell. Have they actually tried you to kill you from it?"
Raul shrugs and goes back to surveying the area around Angelika.
Mr E nods soberly to Angelika. "Well, better than try."
Raul raises an eyebrow at Mr E. "The gunship killed you?"
Mr E nods to Raul. "Yep. Lost my favorite custom sword too." He shrugs.
You frown at Mr E "Darling! And the limo, is that okay?"
Mr E reassures Angelika: "Limo's been moved to a safe spot."
**
The BL90 fades out, and the scene cuts to South Hitachi, where a UD-4L Archangel Gunship roars in from the south at full power, dragging in dust, debris, and a torrent of wind.
Oscar and Angelika are standing, open-mouthed, on the open street, in awe before the sleek, insanely noisy gunship of death.
The gunship is a sleek conglomeration of rounded angles and beveled edges. The ship is a uniform matte-green, so dark as to be almost black, making it a sillouhette against sillouhettes in the harsh glare of its flood and running lights. No insignia adorn its scored and pitted hull save for the thin red tracings of mostly-ignored safety warnings and instrument decals. The bulbous protrusion of the cockpit crouches between two massive air intakes situated on the top of the hull; shortly behind these are housed the majority of the ship's numerous weapons mounts. The tail of the craft juts from behind the rear mounts and forms a wide, oblong 'X' behind a blocky set of maneuvering jets.
Oscar says, in his usual eloquent way, "Intense, intense shit."
Angelika exclaims loudly, "Oh it's fabulous darling! I just wish we could see inside the cockpit!" Angelika's excitement does not prevent her from making sure her hat stays on her head, and that her platinum blonde hair blows away from her face in the most becoming way possible.
Angelika is dashing in a zebra-striped fedora. The brim of the hat is pulled down over her forehead, effectively obscuring her features. All this allows you to see of her striking face is the strong line of her jaw, flaring nostrils, the deep red of a lush lower lip, and a cascade of carefully dishevelled platinum blonde ringlets. Angelika wears a tailored calf-length coat made of a vibrant red synthetic fabric. The coat has broad, confident lapels and metallic red buttons. Angelika wears the coat hanging loose, unbuttoned, and the loosely draping garment shifts with her self-assured movements. Passers-by turn their heads to catch glimpses of the chic outfit she wears underneath the eye-catching coat.
Ramses and his pit bull named "Horatio" arrive from the DoggieTown Pet World. Ramses is holding a FireMedia card.
Rameses is a tall, heavy-built man with large shoulders and a strong stance, shoulder-width apart.
Oscar chuckles softly to himself, as Angelika puts out a thumb, and attempts to hitch a lift from the gunship.
The UD-4L Archangel Gunship emits a low, electronic hum as its radars focus on Ramses. Ramses leaps for cover just in time, as The UD-4L Archangel Gunship's 90mm LBX Autocannon sprays death!
Ramses glances both ways and heads southwest across the street, dodging traffic, with his trusty friend "Horatio" following him.
Oscar follows the proceedings, commenting only "Woah"
Angelika exclaims, "Oh bloody hell! I wish I could see inside!"
Oscar smiles at Angelika "You and me both."
The UD-4L Archangel Gunship emits a low, electronic hum as its radars focus on Angelika.
Angelika gesticulates in an exaggerated way at the cockpit. She yells "Open up..."
The UD-4L Archangel Gunship emits a low, electronic hum as its radars focus on Oscar.
With a perfectly synchronised gasp of astonishment, Angelika and Oscar watch wide-eyed as the UD-4L Archangel Gunship's weapons carriages fold back in to the fuselage as the craft extends its landing struts and touches down in a small cloud of dust.
The UD-4L Archangel Gunship's cargo hatch swings open, forming into a ramp.
Angelika takes a few steps back, as the dust around the gunship settles.
Oscar smiles, only slightly warily, puffing idly on his viper. "May I enter?"
Oscar . o O ( its de mothership! )
Now, without any warning, the UD-4L Archangel Gunship's cargo hatch grinds and groans, closing shut.
The UD-4L Archangel Gunship's engine noise jumps by several dozen decibels, its weapons carriages folding out from the fuselage and its landing struts retracting as it raises itself into a low hover.
Ulysses arrives from the south. He is a compact man, broad of build and sure of stance. He looks to be reasonably in shape and alert.His head is covered in a set of goggles, set in a leather housing, the lenses reflecting the light in the area. He is dressed from shoulders to shoes in a set of dusty, leather clothing. A scuffed, black leather vest is visible beneath his heavy leather jacket, which, itself, has seen quite a bit of wear. Chrome studs line the collar and cuffs of the jacket, as well as the obviously dusty zipper. A wide belt holds his loose leather pants up, the brass buckle simple and shining. The pants themselves show a lot of scratch and wear, as if they've protected himself from numerous high-speed encounters with the ground. A black bag hangs from strap on his shoulder, small and compact, with a bright red medical cross displayed on one side. Ulysses's wearing a Kensai Portable TRI-V around his left wrist, buckled in place like a miniature watch. Ulysses is wearing a DeathTV wristband around his wrist. He wears a large black sword scabbard, hung comfortably from his back.
The UD-4L Archangel Gunship emits a low, electronic hum as its radars focus on Ulysses.
Ulysses curses, "CHRIST ALMIGHTY!"
The UD-4L Archangel Gunship emits a low, electronic hum as its radars focus on Ulysses.
Ulysses shouts, "CRAP!"
Oscar nods soberly, and says quietly, "Yes."
A Dragon AT-5 missile erupts from UD-4L Archangel Gunship's launcher and roars away, trailing white-hot flames!
Angelika shrieks wildly.
Ulysses shouts, "FUCK!"
Angelika, Oscar and Ulysses are nearly thrown off their feet as a Dragon AT-5 missile slams into the roof of an abandoned apartment complex, knocking the building to the ground!
Ulysses heads south down the street.
The UD-4L Archangel Gunship blasts away towards the south, departing with a loud basso rumble. The deafening thrum of turbine engines is heard receding into the south.
**
The scene cuts abruptly back to the relative quiet of the USS Colin Powell. Angelika smiles slightly. "Well, darlings, that awful man Ulysses is not a terribly good actor, but he certainly fooled me. I didn't for one minute imagine he was in cahoots with the pilot of the gunship, and that he was behind all the random violence being perpetrated in the city. In fact, when I first interviewed him, he told me he was an art dealer. I should have guessed that no art dealer would wear such shockingly awful outfits. Remember, though, I was drunk, at the time..."
**
The scene cuts rapidly to the bar at the Club XS. Angelika smiles somewhat lopsidedly but very enthusiastically at Ulysses, after stumbling over to join him at the bar. "Ulysses darling!" The camera is noticably unsteady.
Ulysses looks up at Angelika and stumps towards Angelika, nodding. "Angelika. Good to see you again. It's been a while."
Ulysses . o O ( need to blow that damn pod up )
Ulysses is a compact man, broad of build and sure of stance. He looks to be reasonably in shape and alert. Long, shoulder-length black dreadlocks crowd his rather broad skull, shadowing his high forehead and heavy black brows. Bright green eyes are framed by a prevalent goggle-tan, peering sharply, nonetheless. His nose is long broken, and his rough lantern jaw bespeaks a certain reserved strength, despite the four-day old beard. His lips are creased in a thin line, and an ugly red scar rises from his chin, over his eft cheek, and into his hairline. Amidst the scars, an expression of general unease or distrust seems prevalent. He is dressed from shoulders to shoes in a set of dusty, leather clothing.A black bag hangs from strap on his shoulder, small and compact, with a bright red medical cross displayed on one side. He wears a large black sword scabbard, hung comfortably from his back.
Angelika squints at her mediacam, obviously finding it hard to focus. "Hold the chitchat darling. Let me do the gadget thingie first."
After a few moments, Angelika holds up the camera, zooming in for a rather uncomfortably intimate close-up on the unfortunately extremely unstylish Ulysses, who has just started drinking a scotch at the bar in the Club XS. "Well, Ulysses darling. Thanks for giving us this opportunity to meet New Carthage's leading art dealer."
Angelika sucks her cheeks in as she looks the somewhat unlikely 'art dealer' up and down, her face bearing an exaggerated expression of irony.
Ulysses sneezes several more times in loud succession, looking up at the camera. "Ahem. Excuse me, then. The pollution around here ain't good. And I always enjoy talking to the press. These days, there just aren't enough people interested in art."
Ulysses takes a sip of his scotch, savoring the taste.
Angelika nods in enthusiastic agreement with Ulysses, her large sloe-coloured eyes squinting in an unfortunate manner. "Darling, now do tell us about the NC art world. And your struggle to bring culture to the masses..."
Ulysses sighs loudly and expansively, gesturing with his drink, ice cubes
clinking. "Well, peach, it goes like this. Ever since Zero Day, near as I can reckon, the West has slowly succumbed to greater and greater intellectual inertia. We started out in a situation where our civilization -- Western Civilization -- was based on an educated ideal; it's elites were required to be adept at both the sciences -- mathematics, physics, chemistry, and such -- as well as the finer arts, such as history, philosophy, literature, and painting."
Angelika looks momentarily distracted, glances about furtively and then pulls a large cheap bottle of wine from where it is discreetly hidden somewhere in the depths of her chic patent-leather coat. She tips back her bottle of wine, taking a liberal--if somewhat uncivilized-- amount of the cheap red wine into her mouth before swallowing. It is apparent from the unsteadiness of the image on the screen that she feels somewhat light-headed.
Ulysses continues his speech, gesticulating broadly, somehow avoiding spilling his drink. "However, over the last hundred years, that idea slowly lost ground to the corporate ethic; that is -- work hard, don't ask questions, and maybe, if you spend forty years, someday your life will be your own."
Angelika keeps the camera glued to Ulysses, but licks a small drop of wine off her upper lip demurely, swaying noticably on the barstool.
Ulysses leans against the bar, staring at the camera directly. "The fine arts, things like history and philosophy, were gradually cut out in favor of so-called useful training; such absurdities as economics, and business
school. We reassessed our education system and turned it away from the more blanced education and turned it more towards focused, managerial, work-based education."
Angelika nods enthusiastically, if a bit vacantly. Though the thread of Ulysses's logic escapes her, she finds his prosody soothing.
Ulysses says, "So what happened is we had a gradually increasing Elite trained more and more in procedures, abstracts, and theories than in history, critical thinking, and most importantly, public duty."
Ulysses says, "It created a rather regrettable situation where people with money -- and thus, influence -- began seeking their fun in increasingly banal forms of entertainment. Instead of opera and theater, we had matrix sims. Instead of orchestras playing bach, we had 'raves' and electronica."
Ulysses says, "So we were left, prior to zero day, with an increasingly ignorant and inept Elite running a world that required more and more creativity and planning. Zero Day was the result."
Ulysses says, "And the situation, rather than reversing itself, has just gone downhill."
Ulysses says, "Most people with money nowadays spend it on designer drugs, pleasure implants, and the highest class matrix sims."
Angelika yawns, the prosody starting to lull her to sleep. Her head jerks up suddenly, she blinks, looks down at her bottle affectionately, and then interrupts Ulysses rudely. "So darling, anyway, what on earth happened to your art exhibition. You said it fell through!"
Ulysses waves his hand at Angelika. "Oh, well, major funding fell through. I had rented a concert hall eastside, and was on schedule to begin the show, but my backer woke up dead one morning. Apparently somebody had stopped by his place at night and disemboweled him with some pruning shears. The NCSP, as far as I know, still haven't found the killer."
Ulysses frowns at his drink, and sips it irritably. "Pretty hard to fund an art exhibition without a place to stage it. It would be foolish to set up an exhibition somewhere with shitty security, so I decided to call it off until I could find proper facilities."
Angelika looks up with immediate interest, zooming the camera in on Ulysses's lips as he pronounces the words 'disembowelled' and 'pruning shears'. "Such a pity darling."
Suddenly, Steed arrives in the bar, walks over, nods at Ulysses, and gets out the severed head of a local resident, Stimer, which still bears the anguished expression of its dying moments.
Ulysses nods to Steed absently "That looks like it. Pass it over."
Steed hands Stimer's head to Ulysses.
Angelika excitedly levels the camera, focusing in on the bloody head.
Ulysses briefly links credsticks with Steed, gesturing at the recently decapitated head of Stimer. "Thanks amigo. This asshole has been pissing me off."
Ulysses gets out his implant scanner, sweeps the implant scanner up and down Stimer's head, inspecting a readout on the device.
Angelika glances about in some amusement at the exchange, which has rather livened up a faltering interview. "Now tell me, Ulysses darling, your art dealership obviously doesn't pay the rent..." Angelika grins at Ulysses drunkenly. "I've heard you're a fabulous killer and rather spectacular thief. Which makes you something of a role model for our viewers."
Ulysses coughs loudly. "Well, I don't know too much about that. That's generally just a sideline. I'm curious as to what you've heard, though."
Ulysses takes a sip of his scotch, savoring the taste.
Angelika looks with undisguised admiration at Ulysses, "Oh I've heard this and that darling. Now. So many sweet young things in this town start out in the thuggery business but simply don't get further than their second corpse." Angelika winks rather lewdly. "Do tell us the secret of your success."
Ulysses stares at Angelika with a measuring squint. "The secret of my success? Hmm. Well, I suppose that's pretty easy. I guess it's rooted in my background."
Ulysses folds his arms and looks at Angelika. "This is the story, sweetheart, short and to the point. Years ago, my life was destroyed by a bunch of assholes who thought -- thought -- they controlled things. They wiped out my family, most of my friends, and my entire livelihood."
Angelika nods, fascinated, the camera sliding curiously from Ulysses's spectacular dreadlocks, over his face with its rugged features, down over to the frighteningly large sword scabbard.
Ulysses's left eye develops a bit of a tic, and his gaze becomes distant. "All of them -- ALL of them -- are in the ground now. I murdered them. Every last one of them."
Ulysses says, "And the how is easy. Unlike them, and hell, ninety-nine percent of these assholes in this fucking city, I have nothing to lose."
Ulysses unzips his back scabbard, reaches into it, and pulls out a monokatana.
Angelika smiles brightly, every trace of her drowsiness vanishing. "It's fabulous darling"
Ulysses holds his monokatana in front of the camera, the blade glimmering. "This monokatana? Doesn't mean a damn thing. Neither does my armor, my bike outside, or my credstick."
Ulysses unzips his back scabbard and stuffs a monokatana into his back scabbard.
Ulysses zips closed his back scabbard.
Ulysses stares at Angelika. "The rest of these bastards are all holding on to everything, like what they own determines who they are. That's bullshit. I am just as mean and nasty whether I have one credit or one million."
Angelika zooms the camera over the gleaming sword, lingering another moment on Ulysses's hand on the scabbard. "Now, now, darling. They may not mean a thing to you, but those little toys certainly make fabulous footage, and give our new arrivals something to aspire to..."
Ulysses says, "And so these other fuckers -- the ones that end up headless and in dumpsters -- make stupid decisions because they're worried about their credstick, their apartment, or their portfolio."
Ulysses shakes his head at Angelika. "Aspire to...that's a mistake. This shit came along, and maybe I helped it into my hands, but do I give a shit? No fucking way."
Angelika breathes in audibly, and moves closer to Ulysses, her eyes wide and her vision completely clear.
Ulysses coughs a bit. "The simple truth is that people don't realize their own power, and they limit themselves by holding on to far, far too much. They're afraid of falling down, but sister, take it from me, there's a bottom."
Ulysses says, "You have to stop fearing the bottom. Once you learn what you're capable of -- when you're starving, half-naked, and bleeding from the side in the wastes -- there's nothing that can stop you."
Ulysses asks, "If I get wiped out, cleaned out, and permakilled, will I care? Will I be wailing in the afterlife?"
Angelika stutters, but only slightly, in the face of Ulysses's naked aggression. "Darling, I couldn't agree more. Though I always prefer to have at least one designer outfit with me."
Angelika shifts her head slightly, tinkling the beads on her her silver beaded wig.
Ulysses shakes his head vehemently, green eyes glinting. "Fuck that. I have paid for all my future sins. When I go down, I know I'll have done well. And if I'm lucky, I'll take a few of these assholes in town with me."
Angelika sucks her cheeks in, in absolute delight at these stunning soundbites. "Oh fabulous darling! And do tell us which noble assholes we can expect to see going bottoms up with you?"
Angelika's gaze wanders down, but only very briefly, to said portion of Ulysses's anatomy.
Ulysses shrugs at Angelika. "Ah, there's a few, here and there. That geek Pardon is one, and his buddy Train, for taking a contract on my head. Doc Asclepius is another, since he has the balls to place a contract on my head. Apparently doesn't have the cojones to stick around fight me, though. One or two others, probably."
Ulysses's face splits into a cold, cruel grin, staring at Angelika fiercely. "And you know what the funniest bit is, kitten?"
Angelika lowers her eyes momentarily, to avoid the worst blast of Ulysses's direct gaze. "No darling. do tell us what's funny?"
Ulysses takes the last sip of his scotch and glances at the glass a little regretfully. Then he smiles vividly. "They all seem to think they can wait me out, as if I'm here to be another transient fellow. A passing storm, as it were."
Ulysses chuckles to himself "They figure that I'm just a transient bad guy -- here one week, gone the next. Bullshit. I'm here to stay, until they kill me or they're all gone. When they're all gone, I'll go somewhere else. Got better shit to do."
Angelika glances down at her bottle of wine, held in a strangely white-knucked grip, as, with the other hand, she doggedly keeps the camera focused in a rather frightening close-up of Ulysses's grimace.
Ulysses's fists clench. "And as for good and bad, well, that shit doesn't apply to me. I'm not good, and I'm not bad, either. All I am is a motherfucking force of nature."
Ulysses coughs.
Angelika nods sardonically. "You certainly are a force of nature, I'm positively blown off my feet."
Ulysses blinks and seems to notice the camera again, his face resuming a more balanced countenance. "Sorry about that, didn't mean to get into that much of a digression."
Angelika notices Ulysses looking at her, and shifts position slightly awkwardly. "No, you've been simply fabulous darling. Now. To end our interview. Do tell me something..." The camera trembles slightly. "All my friends have been warning me that you're likely to kill me as an ending to our little liaison." She smiles ravishingly at Ulysses. "Is that true, darling?"
Ulysses shakes his head in disgust. "Yeah, I get that a lot. People seem to think that I'm the sort to randomly kill people. That's complete and utter bullshit. I will only kill a person if they get on my bad side. Now that's not actually that easy to do."
Ulysses sighs. "I have no intention of killing you, or most people. I kill people who think they can fuck with me, and think I'm going to lie down and take it. Well, when you fuck with me, I fuck back. If you don't start in on me, I won't finish on you. It's that simple."
Angelika looks relieved, but only very slightly so. "So sorry darling, I barely know you, and in New Carthage random death and bad, bad tempers are always a possibility." Angelika smiles sidelong at Ulysses. "Now if you do decide to kill me, please just return the firemedia card with this interview on it ... and my underwear. I'd hate to think of anyone else wearing it." Ulysses shakes his head at Angelika. "I really don't think you'll be getting on my bad side, pet. But if you do, the data and the thong -- I presume that's what you've got on -- will be returned to you, I promise."
Angelika lifts up the bottle of wine and the camera tilts drunkely as she turns to Ulysses with a confiding expression on her slightly woozy face. "Darling I totally understand how awful it is to be the victim of cruel and unfair gossip."
Ulysses nods at Angelika. "You know, I've had this problem. People see me nearby, die to something completely unrelated, and have the chutzpah to blame me. It's not healthy."
Angelika totters slightly as she climbs off the barstool, casting a last nervous look at the severed head lying next to Ulysses. "Now I'm sure you have some serious art dealing business to attend to, Ulysses darling."
**
Angelika startlingly blonde hair whips about her face as she shakes her head disbelievingly, standing on the deck of the rusting ship, addressing the camera candidly. "Well darlings. I must admit they fooled me. Imagine my shock when we all found out later that Mr Skinner and Mr Brandt were the monsters who had killed Mr_E, in such a cowardly fashion, and who were probably behind the terrorist attack on my favourite pub, the Blacklight 90. Anyway, now we all know Jake Skinner is no angel, and that the only art Ulysses specialises in is the art of killing, let's have a little heart to heart with them, here on the USS Colin Powell, and find out whether they are men, or just mice with very large guns."
**
The scene cuts to the Island Area on the USS Colin Powell. The island towers above you, as you stand on the flight deck. The rusted hulk of an A-4 Skyhawk leans against the superstructure like a sailor after a night in port. The sound of the ocean echoes against the island behind you, as the flight deck extends around you in every other direction. A UD-4L Archangel Gunship rests on its landing struts nearby, jets of some unidentifiable vapour spouting periodically from unseen vents under its fuselage. Angelika, Jake Skinner and Ulysses walk over from the gunship as the warm rain falls from poisoned, silver-colored clouds.
Ulysses is wearing that appalling leather outfit again. Jake Skinner is a lot more presentable, but in dire need of a drink and a smoke.
Ulysses unzips his back scabbard, reaches into it and pulls out a black obsidian razor sword. He zips closed his back scabbard, and leans on his sword casually, the tip grinding deep into the metal of the deck.
Skinner grins around his cigarette.
The camera rests uneasily on Ulysses, a compact man, broad of build and sure of stance, if in need of a wash. He looks to be reasonably in shape and alert. A pair of Gunshin ATS goggles with blue transparent lenses are strapped around Ulysses's head. Long, shoulder-length black dreadlocks crowd his rather broad skull, shadowing his high forehead and heavy black brows. Bright green eyes are framed by an unfortunate goggle-tan, peering sharply, nonetheless. His nose is long, broken, and his rough lantern jaw bespeaks a certain reserved strength, despite the four-day old beard. His lips are creased in a thin line, and an ugly red scar rises from his chin, over his left cheek, and into his hairline. Amidst the scars, an expression of general unease or distrust seems prevalent. He is dressed from shoulders to shoes in a set of dusty, leather clothing. A scuffed, black leather vest is visible beneath his heavy leather jacket, which, itself, has seen quite a bit of wear. Chrome studs line the collar and cuffs of the jacket, as well as the obviously dusty zipper. A wide belt holds his loose leather pants up, the brass buckle simple and shining. The pants themselves show a lot of scratch and wear, as if they've protected himself from numerous high-speed encounters with the ground. Hanging from a strap across his shoulders is a large black sword scabbard.
Angelika exclaims, "Smile darlings!" and pans the camera over to focus on Skinner, the more attractive one of the pair, by far.
Jake Skinner is a man of average height and slim build. Loose black hair sits uncombed and unruly over his scalp, and blue eyes - unusual for his heritage - dart about under delicate eyebrows. One parent's southern European skin tone darkens the other's already Asian coloring, giving him an almost Brazilian look. The slant to his eyes, though, suggests a more Pacific origin, and just to confuse things he speaks with a cockney accent.
Skinner is wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt over a wife beater and cargo pants. The bulge beneath said shirt under his left arm and the brown leather strap crossing his chest would seem to indicate that he is carrying. A pair of beat up boots protects his feet. A thin, chrome wristband encircles his wrist. He has a small Scannmaster 3000 clipped on to his belt.
Skinner waggles a brow for the camera.
Angelika smiles slightly, brushing back a stray, rather damp curl.
The camera zooms in on Ulysses's dusty face, as he waves around. "This is the U.S.S. Colin Powell. The corpse of the military might of the United States, as it were." Ulysses exhales loudly. "A lot of good beasts like this did it when the end came. It's completely derelict, run aground. It's so big, though, there's no storm that's large enough to dislodge it.So it rusts."
Skinner [to Ulysses]: One of these days we'll have to see if we can get the catapults and weapon systems working
Ulysses nods at Skinner, and moves towards the island. "Boy, that'd be something new to play with."
The camera moves up through a small, very cramped stairwell on the ancient ship. The men's boots clang loudly against the metal, accompanied by the soft sound of Angelika's sandals, as they slap gently against the soles of her feet.
Ulysses says, "Peeling paint and old steel. Not much different from the city." He tromps up the stairs.
Skinner says, "A little less graffitti though. And the people around here are easier to get along with"
Angelika grins nervously at Skinner's joke, as the three walk into the Navigation Room (on USS Colin Powell). The camera pans over banks of computer equipment and navigation equipment surround the outside of the room, casting a flickering light around. A large glass window stands upright in the middle of the room, projecting from another computer bank. The red safety light on the wall flickers occasionally.
Angelika is starting to look somewhat spooked.
Ulysses looks around. "These things were built with nuclear reactors. It still has power, to a certain extent." He gestures at the blinking lights on the wall. "Not that it'll do anybody good. I doubt you could find an engineer that fully understands these things anymore. And why bother with one of these when you can drop aerodynes from orbit? Or troops, from that matter?"
Ulysses says, "Back in the old days, the U.S. spent more of its budget on war than it did on food and medicine."
Angelika nods sympathetically, with the practiced dissimulation of the borderline anorexic.
Ulysses spits meaningfully, his face growing grim.
Skinner chuckles, "You're such a humanitarian, Uly. I know that kind of inequity just drives you to distraction, don't it." Skinner snickers.
Ulysses glances over at Skinner with a wry grin. "That's why I hate those assholes in the city. Despite my reputation, I do care." He shrugs.
Skinner takes a drag on his cigarette, and then laughs, "Oh gimme a break! You sound like you're bloody running for mayor."
Angelika nods mockingly at the sanctimonious Ulysses. "And what do you care about so deeply, darling?"
Ulysses shakes his head. "Nah, I'm serious. I try to stay off the toes of the little guy, when I can. And I don't mean those nosy bastards working for kingpin, either."
Angelika sucks her cheeks in, suppressing a smile, but remaining mock-serious.
Ulysses says, "You ever see me kill a refugee? Nah, I give them food. I ain't going to apologize for the shit I've done, but in spite of it, I'd rather see people eat than starve."
Ulysses says, "It's why I hate assholes like Asclepius. A fucking DOCTOR. He's an insult to his profession."
Ulysses spits on the ground in disgust.
Angelika steps back, out of spitting range and narrows her eyes slightly, glancing strangely at Ulysses. "Oh nonsense Ulysses darling. Apparently he's terribly good at what he does."
Ulysses glances around in disgust, saying "I'm a murderer, but I'm honest about it. Asclepius could learn a thing or two about that."
The camera zooms in on Skinner, as he asks sardonically, "Ulysses S. Brandt. Ah, where would those refugees be without their USB support, eh?"
**
The scene cuts to the Bridge (on the USS Colin Powell). A bank of controls wraps around the room. Some panels have been torn opens, others welded shut. A chair stands in the middle of the room. Crystal-clear plaststeel wraps around the room, giving a view of the ocean.
Ulysses sits down in the old captain's chair, shaking his head.
Skinner shakes his head sadly, dragging on his cigarette.
Angelika leans lightly on the arm of Ulysses's chair.
Ulysses says, "Here we are again. A fleet admiral would have sat here, directing this and a flotilla of other ships."
Ulysses glances over at Skinner. "What did the U.S. stand for again?"
Angelika looks blank. "Don't ask me, I only have a veneer of good manners."
Skinner asks, "Er, life, liberty, and the pursuit of profit?" He smiles. "I know that's what I stand for."
Angelika does not catch the joke.
Ulysses says, "Pursuit of happiness, I think."
Skinner says, "Although I'll trade liberty for a good piece of ass any day". He takes a drag on his cigarette.
Ulysses shakes his head. "I live under no man's thumb. I'll freelance, but I answer to nobody."
Angelika glances over at Skinner, amused. "Darlings, you know I think those are simply marvellous sentiments. But I still don't understand what you're really aiming to do..." She pauses "... with your war in New Carthage, I mean. Are you ever going to stop all this killing? It's so messy."
Ulysses frowns, hunkering back in the chair. "That's a good question. I've been running around the west coast for years now, doing this sort of thing, and I ain't sure what I'm really aiming to do, either."
Ulysses squints at Skinner. "What are we aiming to do?"
Skinner [to Ulysses]: "Just pursue our god-given rights like any good old time American."
Angelika glances across at Skinner, arching an eyebrow. "Our rights to a good piece of ass, darling. I'll vote for that..."
Skinner [to Ulysses]: See, she knows what I'm talking about
Ulysses snorts, as he gestures vaguely at Skinner. "It's easy for you to say that. You don't have a history."
Ulysses [to Angelika]: The reason I get along with Skinner so well is that he's got no past. I can't get away from mine.
Skinner gestures vaguely with his cigarette.
Ulysses grins, white teeth shining in the dim light, and nods at Skinner. "Why don't you tell the lady about your sordid history, hmm? It's a short enough tale."
Skinner shrugs, "Alrighty"
Angelika shifts away from Ulysses, as Ulysses sits in the captain's chair. The camera moves unforgivingly over Ulysses, who looks as stylish as a toddler after several hours in the sandpit. Angelika winks at Skinner, out of sight of Ulysses.
Ulysses watches Skinner patiently, waiting.
Skinner says, "Well before I came to NC and joined PR, I'd been a smuggler for as long as I can remember which, granted, isn't very far back. "
Angelika asks, "What did you smuggle, Jake darling?"
Ulysses picks some mantlion parts out of his dreads, listening.
Skinner [to Angelika]: Just about everything as far as I've ascertained. Drugs, guns, slaves, you name it.
Ulysses [to Skinner]: Slaves? Really? You never told me that!
Angelika glances across at Skinner, nostrils flaring.
Skinner grins, "I apparently wasn't long on morals"
Ulysses frowns at Skinner.
Ulysses mutters something disparaging about Skinner's taste, as well.
Angelika asks, "Slaves... where can you buy them? I need one. Raul is not obedient enough."
Skinner chuckles and shrugs, "who knows, could be hearsay, really, I got that second hand"
Ulysses says, "Anyways, back to the story. Tell her why you can't remember too far back."
Ulysses flings some crusty parts of mantlion carapace the floor, moving on to some other dreads carefully and patiently.
Angelika edges away from Ulysses. The camera pans over to Skinner, framing a shot of his unusual features with obvious relief.
Skinner takes a long drag on his cigarette, "See, waking up in a cloning vat left me disoriented enough; waking up in a cloning vat on a depressurized corporate shuttle liberally painted with blood and on a rough ride into the jungles of Vietnam was worse. Although I was able to make it to the cockpit and, vat juice still sloughing off me, wrest the controls away from my own ventilated corpse, I was unaware at the time of just how the hell I managed to land the thing without smearing myself all over the ground."
Angelika raises an eyebrow at Skinner, breathing in audibly at the graphic description. "Ouch."
Ulysses grins at Angelika and winks. "This is why I hooked up with this guy. Now that's a story. And it's not even done yet."
Skinner says, "about the only things I was able to figure out after the fact were 1) It was indeed hmy corpse at the helm, although the shuttle was not registered to me. 2) Someone had disliked my former self enough to paint the cabin with my insides. 3) Several others onboard had apparently been equally disliked. 4) My vat had been the only one on board, but not the only cargo: the cargo manifest had at least a dozen other entries, none of which were onboard after the crash."
Angelika shifts off the arm of the captain's chair, as it becomes impossible to dodge the mantlion parts with any semblance of dignity anymore. "What do you suspect it was all about?" She moves over and stands on tiptoes, looking over the bank of controls, focusing the camera briefly out over the ocean.
Skinner shrugs, "From what little I had on me, I was able to track down some former colleagues in Pa Nang who filled me in on the smuggler biz and, incidentally, later set me up with the Angel..." he gestures in the direction the Gunship would be in, "...and that I apparently had business out here with some blokes at the Pleasure Dome"
Ulysses watches Angelika carefully as her back is momentarily turned to him.
Skinner grins around his cigarette, "Granted, once I fell in with this homely bugger here, I had plenty else on my plate to keep my mind off my troubles"
Angelika turns around slowly and glances back at Skinner. "So Jake darling, was your job at PR just a smokescreen while you prepared to join Ulysses in his little war?"
Ulysses nods at Skinner, his face serious. "Skinner and I met up shortly after I arrived in New Carthage. I helped him out a bit, he helped me out a bit, and it worked out very well. We've seen a lot of fire together here, and I almost trust him."
Skinner nods to Angelika, "PR was a smokescreen, and a decent way to make money while I investigated."
Angelika smiles lightly at Skinner, but not with her eyes, as she remembers Mr_E's description of his death. "You rather fooled me, Jake darling. I had you all lined up for the episode in my documentary that focuses on the 'good' guys."
Ulysses shakes his head at Skinner. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You were perfectly loyal to PR until that preening asshole Soze showed up."
Skinner says, "Yeah, that's true. I never had any reason to double-cross PR until that mantlion-buggering pretty-boy showed up"
Skinner asks, "Who was I to argue with cheap clones and access to the Viggen?"
Ulysses glances over at Angelika. "Skinner did work with me, but out of respect for his position with PR, we stayed well clear of any bad business with the corp. Respect deserves respect, and PR got that until that frilly girl Soze got afraid that Skinner would outshine him as their best pilot."
Angelika sucks her cheeks in, suppressing a laugh at the thought of the terrifying Soze as a frilly girl.
Ulysses says, "Be that as it may, that's the reason I like Skinner. He's uncomplicated. Give him alcohol, cigarettes, and plenty of women, and he's reasonably happy."
Skinner shrugs and nods in agreement. "That and the occasional bout of random bloodshed"
Angelika laughs despite herself. "Soze was envious when I told him Jake was the sexier of the two PR pilots. That fabulously loud Hawaiian shirt..."
Skinner grins around his cigarette.
Ulysses snorts at Angelika. "Not a surprise. That Soze has the biggest head on his shoulders of anybody I've met in New Carthage, and that includes that shitfist Asclepius."
Angelika flashes a smile at Skinner, ignoring Ulysses's latest rude comment.
Skinner slaps Ulysses in the shoulder, "And you've been putting down my attire all this time."
Ulysses shrugs at Angelika, turning to Skinner "It's ugly as fuck. But what do I know? I only bathe once a month."
Angelika's elegant nostrils flare in distaste, all her worst suspicions about Ulysses confirmed.
Skinner frowns. "Yeah well, at least I can take my ugly off."
Ulysses scratches his head absently, turning to Angelika. "Getting back to the story, I guess my past is the complete opposite of Skinner's. I grew up in the Tri-Cities, in Washington state. Or what was left of it, at any rate."
Skinner takes a drag on his cigarette and lets Ulysses have the spotlight.
Ulysses says, "Aside from the nukes that hit the nuclear power plant at Hanford, and some of the dams up in B.C., Washington survived Zero day pretty well. The Tri-Cities, in fact, did exceptionally well. Sure, we lost most of our population in the first year or two to drought, disease, and the initial fallout, but it was healthy enough."
Angelika nods at Ulysses, glancing at his sad excuse of an outfit, nostrils flaring again disdainfully. She straightens out the hem of her skirt absently.
Ulysses says, "Most of our kids were still born healthy, and you could grow crops that wouldn't make you piss blood."
Ulysses slouches in the captain's chair, staring out the window. "Anyways, my father and some other guys had the town organized, once the state and feds had completely broken down. It was a big city, but only a tenth of the size that it was before zero-day."
Skinner wanders over to the control banks and idly fiddles with some dials as he listens.
Ulysses says, "As it stood, we had a good operation going. A rotating militia in town from the local boys, enough of the utilities were maintained, as we still had some engineers that fled Boeing just before the bomb, and the water was mostly clean."
Ulysses says, "We stuck together, our farmers had guardsmen over their farms and herds, and we were pretty prosperous."
Ulysses says, "I was the youngest kid in my family, last of my brothers to enter the militia."
Angelika grasps the brim of her zebra-striped fedora, and removes it with a significant glance at Skinner. She taps the garish hat against her thigh, as she listens to Ulysses with a slight, and inexplicable smile.
Ulysses says, "It's where I learned to ride. You could find gobs of gas in old storage tanks around, so nobody was worried about fuel, and bikes were the easiest way to navigate the rubble."
Ulysses says, "Anyways, it all went pretty smooth. We'd take in newcomers, trade with a few of the caravans that'd slide past every year or so, north, or south or east, it was orderly. It was about 2019, though, when the shit hit the fan. We had no corporate presence in the area -- who wanted to babysit farmers, after all? And that means that real gangs were a worry."
Skinner grins widely at Angelika, "Bet you didn't think you were going to get our life stories when you signed on for this trip, eh?"
Ulysses says, "We'd fought off a couple small nomad attacks, but we only had...oh, maybe fifty or so guys in the militia at any given time."
Skinner [to Ulysses]: Uly, can't you see you're boring the poor girl?
Ulysses [to Skinner]: Shut yer yap.
Angelika raises an eyebrow at Skinner. "No no, not at all, Jake darling."
Skinner chuckles softly to himself and goes back to sucking his cigarette.
Ulysses says, "Anyways, to make a long story short, about two hundred Hell's Angels rode into the area, one day, give or take. My brothers, my father, and most of the militia rode off to confront them and send them packing."
Angelika frowns, chewing her cheek. She clearly knows what happens next in Ulysses's story, but looks interested for the sake of the camera.
Ulysses says, "Guess my dad didn't know the real numbers. He sent me off to guard the stockpiles and some key personnel; you know, our doctors, a couple of engineers, and so on. Me and the other young guys." He shrugs. "Well, we heard a lot of gunfire; way too much."
Angelika nods, glancing down, either not wanting to or unable to meet Ulysses's gaze.
Ulysses says, "By the time I got there, pretty much the whole militia, including my family and brothers, were dead. They'd mowed down a good hundred and fifty of the Angels, as well -- we were good shots, well trained -- but it was too much. That was too much of our population, and within weeks, we were getting raided almost daily. Me and the boys that were left did what we could to keep the town together, but it faded." He shrugs.
Ulysses says, "I've been chasing warlords ever since. That's what I mean when I say I care about the little guy, and why I go after the fucks like Asclepius that beat the average man down. If I come to a place, and there's a warlord, or somebody that's running things for his own interest, I'm going to take his head and nail it to a wall."
Ulysses says, "I guess that's it." He picks his teeth, glaring at Angelika.
Angelika swallows, a little muscle twitching involuntarily in her jaw. She comments, lightly. "You're a warlord too, darling. I'd imagine. Or is none of this war of yours serving your own interests?"
Skinner says, "The pursuit for world domination allows a little hypocrisy... it comes with the territory"
Ulysses shrugs at Angelika. "I could give a shit about any of it. Gunship, sword, creds. Ask Skinner. I give shit away. The stuff we sell in the store basically just funds the operation, and that's as far as it goes."
Ulysses says, "I've got too many people to kill to worry about being rich."
Skinner throws a few fake punches, "You know, the whole 'be reasonable, do it my way' kick". He grins at Ulysses.
Angelika glances directly at Ulysses, and then turns to the camera, a sardonic smile playing around the corner of her lips. "Well thank you darlings, for giving us such startling insights into local warlords' lives of depravity and destruction."
**
An advertorial flashes onto the screen, plastering the scene with the lurid letters EVIL Inc. which writhe towards you in a fluorescent purple typeface. Muir strides up to the camera, his face confronting you, the shot cropped uncomfortably closely. A large man, his body is well built and slightly stocky. His muscle definition is strong and his stance is stubborn.His head is obscured by a protective matte black helmet lined with dull grey metal rivets. The polarized black tinted faceplate is down. A black leather collar encircles his throat, buckled in front and adorned with a row of short chrome spikes. Hanging from a strap across his shoulders is a large scabbard covered in thick, coarse black animal fur. Muir's stiff bulky black leather trenchcoat coat could be hiding almost anything underneath. His hands are large and muscular. They are scarred around the knuckle region.
Muir speaks in a staccato tone, "Tired of the lack of backbone in the city? NCPK or NCSP failing you pathetically again? Here at Evil Inc. we offer support for the little guys in townWe have something to make the pain go away. Call us if you need any kind of pest termination whatsoever. Remember, Evil is planning to get bigger and better... Watch this space for news of our exciting new demolition service"
**
Angelika brushes her now very dishevelled hair back from her face as she stands on the rusting deck of the USS Colin Powell. Her demeanour of the intrepid reporter is clearly beginning to smudge slightly, as is her mascara. "Men or mice? As you can see, Jake Skinner is a fabulous, fabulous person. But, in the interests of journalistic objectivity, I think I'll have to leave it to our audience to decide for themselves whether Ulysses is really the monster everyone thinks he is, or whether, as he claims, he's just Robin Hood on a particularly bad hair day."
**

Episode 7: A good man is hard to find. Cooper and the NCPK
Episode 7: A good man is hard to find. Cooper and the NCPK
Neurotika stands in front of the Parallel Resurrection building on Fuji Avenue. She nods at you, eyes sliding away from your gaze, as she fingers her PR bracelet uneasily.
Neurotika continues, ...In the next few episodes, we’ll be looking for people you can call on to defend yourself, in case of attack, ambush, or other emergency. Of course, they’re also the people you need to know about if you’re planning to attack anyone...
A strange tic distorts Neurotika’s otherwise attractive face ...Our question is ‘Are there any good men, or women, in New Carthage? We’ll be investigating the NCPK today. In theory, they defend the underdogs of the city, and keep the peace for us. However, it's almost a tradition in New Carthage that no-one ever has anything good to say about them. Watch the show, and decide for yourself...’
**
Languidly, you drift awake from uneasy dreams, finding yourself in a cramped lucite sleeping coffin. The gray light filtering through the lucite reminds you just how far from home you really are. This unsettled feeling intensifies as you look up and realise you are face to face with the somewhat predatory-looking Demonika.
The lucite sleeping coffin is nothing more than a cramped plastic tube with translucent walls and a thin padding on the bottom. You barely fit inside, able to sit up only by cramping your neck into your shoulders. At the foot is a kick-open door with the word `out' stenciled in red. Ominous music swells claustrophobically in the background.
Demonika blocks your access to the door, and crawls even closer towards you on her hands and knees, red braids hanging down dead straight on either side of her smirking face.
She advances until you are squeezed uncomfortably against the cold plastic, her face in extreme close-up, and her slightly sulphurous breath warm on your skin.
She smiles sardonically. ...You’ll agree, of course, that this is the perfect setting for a feature on the New Carthage Peace-Keepers, also affectionately known by the locals as the New Carthage Coffin-Crawlers..."
Demonika puts on a serious face, and intones in a boring statistician’s voice. "In a recent poll of New Carthage citizens, and Severian, we found that 57% of residents agree that, to use local parlance, the NCPK sucks."
Demonika’s face distorts as she makes a rather inappropriate sucking sound, her full lips puckering in a practiced manner. She continues "19% had never even heard of the NCPK, and another 21% had no opinion on the matter. Only 3%, or one of our respondents, felt that they did not in fact, er... suck. While this lone supporter had nothing good to say about the organisation, he felt it was important that they received at least one vote "I know the individuals do what they can..", he said. Using the Dead-Mann Whitney test, these results were found to be extremely significant."
A footnote appears on the screen. "The votes of NCPK officers were discounted."
Demonika nods smugly. "Of course, the participants in our poll had a great many suggestions of how the NCPK could improve their popularity with the people of New Carthage.... Let’s hear what they thought."
Otis’s voice rasps into the subsequent silence, as if over a complant "Let me tell you something, if _I_ were NCPK, with fuckin' 500 cred clones.. even in my old age, I'd just jump out of the vat with a .22 and do my goddamn job. PKers are expendable, they should start acting like it. Act as cannon fodder, human shields... guard the victim with their own body so they have a chance to get away. THAT is what they should do, none of this pussy cube crawling."
**
Demonika, now seated slightly more comfortably before a picture window in a luxuriously furnished apartment, speaks with extreme irony "Well people, we went out looking for a good man in New Carthage, and all we could find was the NCPK and Angelika’s hero, the coffin-hugging Officer Cooper. Tell us all about darrrling Cooper, Angel!"
The shot cuts abruptly to Angelika, who is sulking, and trying somewhat unsuccessfully to look unconcerned. She turns her back to the camera, tossing back her hair, and looks intently out of the window. "Oh bloody hell, Cooper is not my hero, the crazy old coot."
Angelika looks back rather too quickly at the camera. "He rescued me from some slightly dangerous situations, but that was just in the course of doing his duties." She shrugs again, nostrils flaring aggressively as the sulk turns into an undisguised scowl. "Last time we spoke he called me a stupid bitch."
Demonika moves directly in front of the camera, flicking the remote control uncomfortably close to your face "Oooooh poor darrrrling Angel. And tell me, was it also in the course of his duties that he beat you up while you were trying to interview him?"
**
Angelika looks up after a few seconds, from the floor, where she just fell after fainting at the sight of Cooper's icy blue eyes. She stays sitting on the floor, and looks up at Cooper in fascination, her retro police cap slightly off-centre on her head.
Cooper [NCPK] is about six foot tall, and fairly well built. His hair has been reduced to a thin, dirty-blonde fuzz, cropped close to his scalp. His ice-blue eyes sparkle slightly in the light. His complexion is smooth, unmarked, his features are clean cut,all in all, he's a good looking man. Cooper is wearing a jet black headset and microphone attached to a thin black box at his waist. He is wearing an =MIA= BlackOps Military duster. The two macro-steel chest buckles have the =MIA= logo stamped into their faces, the impression barely visible except on close inspection, while a larger buckle sits over the waist, cinching the thick armored mesh close around his abdomen. The entire Method Industries & Associates duster is a uniform non-reflective matte black, for superior concealment in a dark settings.
Cooper's hands are engulfed in a thick pair of black combat gloves, secured at the wrist with an 'X' of velcro. He is wearing a pair of black suede hiking boots. They have a meticulously shined steel plate covering the toes.
Cooper [NCPK] is holding a Lykos Sidearm.
Angelika pulls her legs about slightly, so that she is sitting on her haunches, and then gets a nice head-and-shoulders shot of Cooper. From this angle, Cooper looks extremely menacing, awful and in control. Of course, Angelika rather likes that.
Angelika nods absently, not really listening to what Cooper is saying. "Certainly darling."
Angelika zooms the camera in more closely on Cooper, attempting to get a shot which hints at his more human dimension, which she secretly doubt exists.
Cooper watches Angelika, unblinking and silent.
Angelika shifts to the artificially honeyed tone of the professional media icon. "Thank you Cooper darling, for agreeing to this interview with us today."
Cooper simply nods
Angelika returns the camera to pan over Cooper again, this time taking in the details of his attire. She flashes a brilliant smile "Let's start with you telling me all about your little group, the ... NCPD ... or what?"
She corrects herself after looking down at a set of notes, entirely unembarassed. "Oh, today is Monday, that would be the NCPK."
She nods matter-of-factly at Cooper.
Cooper narrows his eyes at you, "Don't patronise me."
Angelika flicks her hair back over your shoulder, as she moves closer, delighted to get a reaction like this. "Tell me why you don't like me patronising your group, Cooper darling?"
Cooper keeps his gaze locked on Angelika, his voice is low, icy in tone as he answers, "Your entire attitude towards things belittles what it's really like in this city. My 'little' group as you called it work extremely hard to keep the people of this hell hole as safe as we can."
Angelika breathes in lightly, now working hard to suppress the signs of her delight. She fixes Cooper with a sardonic look. "Yes, yes, whatever. Now do tell us what keeps you so busy that you kept me waiting for almost five weeks for this interview, Cooper darling."
Angelika looks out sternly from under the brim of her police cap.
Angelika poses for the camera again, looking away from Cooper for a moment.
Cooper glances around his surroundings for a moment and shrugs, "Was it five weeks? Can't say I was counting."
Angelika nods at Cooper, a frozen expression on her face. "I've been to therapy, dealt with your nastiness, and moved on. So don't try to score any cheap points. Lets hear about how you go about keeping the peace for us in New Carthage, now."
Cooper turns his attention back to Angelika, "Be more specific."
Angelika stands up, looking commanding, Cooper's initial spell on her seems to have suddenly broken. Angelika eyes Cooper challengingly. "Well, specifically, what on earth do you chaps do that justifies you going about demanding donations from all of us."
Cooper smiles a little at Angelika, "I don't demand anything. I ask for donations to support the NCPK of those who can afford them. As for what we do...Let me first make clear that the NCPK is not, and will never be a police force, at least not in the conventional sense of the phrase.."
Angelika nod seriously to yourself obviously remembering yet another infuriating thing about Cooper, which briefly slipped your mind in the face of his initially overwhelming physical presence.
Angelika returns her attention to what Cooper just said, making a sterling effort to avoid the banned word 'rentacop'. "Yes darling. So what exactly are you then?"
Cooper runs his free hand over his shaved head and looks thoughtful for a moment before he speaks again, "We provide protection to the people. We escort those who are afraid to walk the streets alone, we activly hunt down and neutralise well known threats to society. When possible we provide rapid response when people are being attacked, we break up riots and try to keep the gangs under control."
Cooper says, "we also mediate disputes in an attempt to resolve them, before they turn violent."
Angelika taps her toe on the floor imperiously, "Are there any circumstances where you don't provide this assistance to people, Cooper darling?"
Cooper nods lightly, "There are a number of situations that would mean we either won't, or can't help people. Firstly I will not assist people who have a record of causing trouble. Secondly, if responding to a situation would be futile, then we won't do it."
Cooper says, "I don't discriminate against people simply because they do, or don't contribute to my organisation, often those that need my help the most are the ones who can't afford to make donations. That's why I make the effort to secure financial support from the wealthier denizens of New Carthage."
Angelika looks up at Cooper skeptically from under the brim of her retro cap "That's lovely, darling. But may I ask you to go back over that second point of yours, and please explain very carefully. Remember this interview is for the benefit of new arrivals to New Carthage. I'd hate them to be as confused about the NCPK as I was. Perhaps give us some examples of when you have decided that to respond to a situation would be futile?"
Cooper nods lightly, "Sure..These situations will differ however. It will depend upon the available Peace Keepers, as well as other factors, including the operational status of my team. Generally it's left to the discretion of the peace keeper alerted to the situation to decide. We generally won't respond if our response team would be greatly outnumbered, out gunned or in any other way, would be likely not to return alive. In my opinion, there is little or no point rushing to your certain death. That helps no one."
Angelika focuses the camera very closely on Cooper's attractive face, dimly aware that something about his logic rather escapes her "Yes darling. That would certainly be awful." She visibly dismisses the nagging doubt. "Now, on a more positive note, we all know that you care very very deeply about your job. Would you tell us a couple of stories about what you consider your greatest successes with the NCPK?"
Angelika shifts over to sit on the couch, perhaps uncomfortably close to Cooper. Almost on his lap, in fact.
Angelika absently runs her slender fingers over the embossed golden military shoulder detail on her latex police officer mini-dress.
Cooper scratches his chin with the gloved back of his hand and shrugs lightly, "Stories mean nothing. My success with the NCPK aren't in personal victories I've had. I consider myself to be succeeding when I go out, and the bars are full of people, and there are people walking the streets, without cowering in fear at every turn they make. When I can spend hours at a time without havingto respond to someone being mugged or murdered. That's what it's all about..."
Angelika shifts over to sit demurely on Cooper's lap, holding the camera to take in both of them. She smiles sweetly at the camera, then turns back to Cooper. "That's a lovely picture, darling. How often would you say you get to feel that sense of satisfaction then?"
Cooper rolls his eyes a little and unceremoniously dumps Angelika off his lap, "When we're at full strength, quite regularly, and frequently for extended periods. I'm not saying we stamp out all the violence, but certainly reduce it to a more manageable level for most people."
Angelika smiles again, this time infinitely sweetly, rubbing her slightly bruised elbow as she clambers back onto the couch, hardly missing a beat. "Fabulous darling. And how often would you imagine that you need to use strategies such as bribery, blackmail and torture to achieve these kinds of remarkable successes?"
Angelika asks, "As you threatened to do with me last week, if you remember?"
Cooper shrugs, unphased, "Not that often, I prefer less aggressive ways of achieiving my goals, but, some people are too ignorant, or too obnoxious for the more pleasant methods to have any effect."
Angelika pushes Cooper off the couch, and then stands up, furious, arms akimbo. "Thank you darling."
Cooper smiles sweetly at Angelika, "You're welcome."
Angelika nods at Cooper coldly. "Now, just before you leave, would you please tell us your exact price. That's if any of our viewers need to hire a little Mr Rentacop."
Cooper gets out his Thrash battleshades.
Cooper slips on a pair of wraparound shades, scanning the room from behind the amber lenses of his Thrash battleshades.
Cooper gets out his kevlar helmet.
Cooper pulls on his kevlar helmet. He fastens the chinstrap, and flips downthe faceplate, locking it in place.
Angelika punches something into the hallway door's keypad. She then nods at Cooper, indicating that the door is now locked. "Yes darling, what were you going to say?"
Cooper rolls his neck lightly, "I'm not for sale. I work for free for those who deserve it."
Angelika shakes her head, unbelieving. "I think we're going to have to use some of your own methods on you if we're going to get anywhere with this interview, darling." she reaches out, fumbling for something near her on the floor.
Angelika picks up a strong little silken cord, and tightly binds Cooper with it, rendering Cooper completely immobile and powerless.
Angelika nods at Cooper. "Now answer me darling, before I start calling my friends to help, just like you did last week."
Cooper pulls his arms loose from the silken cord and gasps as he feels the ache of freedom spread through his limbs.
Angelika gets out her riding crop.
Cooper growls at Angelika, throwing a silken cord at Angelika, it slithers off Angelika and falls in a shiny little heap the floor.
Angelika walks over to Cooper, suggesting politely with a glance that Cooper should submit to her will, before things get really ugly.
Cooper growls again in the back of his throat, "Don't...make me demonstrate to you -why- people do what I say.."
Angelika nods at Cooper, entirely mesmerised by his little growls. "But Darling. I would love to know. Why on earth does anyone do what you say?"
Cooper spins his Lykos Sidearm up his forearm, "Really, I don't think you'd enjoy the place I'd put you."
Angelika trails the riding crop gently over Cooper's cheek. "Are you about to arrest me, Officer Cooper?"
Cooper growls.and grabs for Angelika's Epoch mediaCAM Pro but she moves it out of reach.
Angelika puts her Epoch mediaCAM Pro away, safely out of Cooper's reach.
Cooper says, "I don't arrest people.."
Angelika exclaims, "Hah, now you are trying to steal from me!". She flicks the riding crop on Cooper's trim backside. "You're a bad cop!"
Cooper spins his Lykos Sidearm up along his forearm and prepares to beat the snot out of Angelika.
Cooper chooses his stance carefully. The path of Angelika's fist intersects with empty air.
Angelika throws a haymaker at Cooper which goes far aside.
Angelika gasps as Cooper's Lykos Sidearm is thrust nearly through her left shoulder.
Angelika winces as she feels the pain of broken bones, and then slumps to the ground unconscious.
Cooper takes an Epoch mediaCAM Pro from the unconscious Angelika.
Angelika gets up from the ground, shaking her head groggily.
Angelika gasps, "So darling, this is what you call "Peace-keeping"?"
Cooper reaches down to switch off the mediacam, his burly hand passing in front of the lens, as he turns to Angelika, and says "Do not...fuck with me.."
**
Demonika flicks the remote, and the footage of Cooper’s hand disappears, immediately replaced by a close-up of blood spurting from a vanquished warrior on D-TV "Nevermind Angel, apparently your sweet Cooper darrrrling has an unfortunate habit of doing that to all the girls..."
Angelika looks warningly at Demonika, saying with extreme emphasis "Fuckit darling! You swore you wouldn’t mention that.."
Demonika does not miss a beat, smiling innocently "Oh everyone knows he attacked his girlfriend Nicole, practically killed her, and then walked out on her, leaving her defenceless, easy meat for her killers while he was on a jaunt."
Angelika frowns, "Of course you conveniently forget that that little girlfriend was no angel, herself."
Demonika glances at Angelika, twisting the knife. "Oh and all his girlfriends are too scared to admit they even know him."
Demonika raises an eyebrow, nodding knowingly, as a voiceover begins. The voice is that of a highly strung and very uptight female, a passing simulation of the tinny edge of the complant. "I have no opinion of the NCPK either way. It'd be a death sentence for me, no matter what I said. So no, and if you quote me on anything I say to you...ever., I'll be upset!" The sentence, already high-pitched, ends in a terrified squeak.
Demonika grimaces mockingly. "See Angel, you should be happy Cooper ignored your charms - he spends his time terrifying his girlfriends, and ignoring the needs of the city."
Demonika smiles lightly at the camera. "Well, we all know he’s wacko! Not only that, everyone in town thinks he’s into some heavily shady business. He crawls in his coffin all day, yet always has fabulous gear."
As the scene fades out, Angelika's fist intersects with air, as she vainly attempts to take the silly smile off Demonika's face
***
At the booth in the coffee shop, the 12-year old Wilbur says, "I remember when the NCPK got started. They helped people out. Now they're a bunch of murderers. They're no better than those goddamn crooked NC Pigs."
At the booth, Wilbur says, "Someone needs to expose them. I can help you do that. I bet you right now in that crappy little HQ of theirs they have all kinds of stolen property from people they've offed."
At the booth, Angelika tosses her hair back, looking at Wilbur with interest, as she scolds him, with some irony. "Comparing anyone to the NCSP is an awful thing to do darling, you should wash your mouth out with soap."
**
Angelika is here, sitting slumped dejectedly in a couch. Demonika, holding a remote control, moves in front of her to face the camera, nodding seriously. "Well, that’s what our younger generation’s view of the noble peace-keepers. Let’s hear what some other NC residents thought."
Demonika looks strangely wide-eyed and uncharacteristically respectful 'Let’s start with the views of our favourite local killing machine, Severian."
You immediately recognize the booming voice of Severian, despite the characteristically metallic edge of the complant "Sheeit. I think the NCPK should either brazen it or bust themselves outta the city, but they can't do a little of both. Either put the city in their fist ,and fuck freedom, or go back to sitting around in a donut shop. Nobody can be strong without eating the weak. Anyone who claims to be strong by supporting the weak is a communist, or a fool."
Demonika nods seriously. "Well, communism is no longer chic, so Severian is telling us the NCPK are fools. Of course, others put it more bluntly, like Shindler, who said, and I quote ‘they kill off their own members, sit around in their coffins and do nothing, and have the balls to call themselves 'Peace Keepers'."
Demonika pulls a rude face at Angelika. "Well there you have it, darrrling. The vox pop has spoken! Your sweetheart sucks!"
Angelika grabs the remote control out of Demonika's hands. "Darling, you've been hanging out with too many thugs, obviously. I happen to know that some of the most stylish women in NC support the NCPK and they all think that Cooper is simply the best thing since self-washing dishes."
**
Angelika clicks the remote, and a poorly lit scene from the underwhelming HQ of the NCPK appears on the TRI-V.
**
The scene is Office 101 of the Hitachi Commerce Center, the HQ of the New Carthage Peace Keepers. Upon first glance, most would think this building is deserted. Dirt and grime coat the once white floor, turning it a sickly brown. Cob webs cling to the corners and ceiling, an occasional spider lazily moves across one only to finish off it's new catch. White boot prints litter the floor where people have been walking here recently and stired up the dust. Dull thumps and faint voices can be detected far above you. Along the far wall is a set of stairs that is protected by a heavy security door. Light filters in from a window along the side of the room.
Monica is sitting on the couch. She unsnaps the chin fitting of her matte black combat helmet and tugs it off of her head, as she scoots over to one side of the couch, making room for Angelika.
Angelika sits down on the other side of the couch, crossing her legs in a ladylike manner. She fiddles briefly with her camera, smiling at Monica, as she focuses the camera on her. Monica [NCPK] is a woman, about average height. She looks pretty small, but not petite. She is always looking around the room, and seems generally approachable and friendly.
Her black hair is pulled into pigtails. She has bright fiery red eyes. She is wearing a duster made of deep black, chemically treated eel leather over her upper body. The back shows a beautifully done, hand painted World War II era Japanese battle flag.
Angelika flashes a smile at Monica. "Well Monica darling. You've always been my favourite Peace-keeper."
Monica smiles, her pigtails bobbing "Why thank you"
Angelika nods seriously at the camera. "Not only is Monica dedicated to her job, she also has an enviable sense of style."
Monica grins mischievously.
Angelika pans the camera over Monica's somewhat intimidating outfit again. "Although darling, you did look so spectacular in your MeshGirl."
As Monica replies, wryly, "Well, yes, but I got sick of replacing it", the scene flashes back to an image of Monica in the BL90, resplendent in a full suit of very desirable and stylish armored MeshGirl. In the flashback, Monica is wearing a sleek crimson battle helm to protect her head. Made of plasteel, and fronted with a dark visor, the MeshGirl helm provides an optimal combination of style and functionality. Monica's formfitting crimson silk-look MeshGirl Weskit, protects the upper body completely, from its high plasteel-reinforced collar to the nipped in waist with flexible abdomen and groin protector cut high on the legs and flared panelled skirt protecting the base of the spine and hips. Swirling decorative stitching define the breasts and accent waist and back, artfully disguising plasteel and mesh ribbed inserts. These extend down the arms as well, with extra thick ribs at elbows, bracer mountings and wrists. A black holster is strapped to her right shoulder. It is fastened by a snap coming over the butt of the gun. A pair of fingerless leather gloves enfold her hands, pieces of contoured steel plate protecting the back of Monica's fingers. Around her waist with little pouches on either side is a black belt. The two pouches seem to be bulging with something. A pair of snug, reinforced pants cling to Monica's lower body. The pale pink color and cord tied into a bow at the waist add a definite feminine flair to these armored leggings. Stitched over a back pocket in matching pink thread is the word 'Meshgirl'. On her feet Monica wears a sensual pair of crimson MG Combats with lightweight platform soles that rise up sleekly to just below her knees, protecting her shins and ankles with molded, flexing plasteel.
The scene cuts back to the NCPK HQ, somewhat later, where Angelika and Monica are engrossed in conversation. Angelika sucks her cheeks in. "But enough about me darling! Do tell me why you stick it out in the PK, despite the fact that the thugs in our town make sure you keep having to replace that marvellous meshgirl of yours."
Monica: "Well, I truly believe in the NCPK cause. We do our best to help out people who need it, even if we can't always do so. I really like the ideals of the PK."
Angelika focuses closely again on Monica's seemingly sincere expression, as Monica speaks. She nods seriously at Monica. "Do tell us some exciting stories darling. About how you have helped the underdog and all that inspiring stuff!"
Angelika leans back slightly in the couch, zooming out slightly, framing Monica as she sits on the couch in the somewhat shabby lobby of the PK headquarters, looking very relaxed.
Monica nods "A month or two ago there was a group of people terrorizing the town under the auspices of religion, and in one fell swoop we managed to significantly reduce their numbers"
Angelika glances at Monica, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "Oh that sounds fabulous darling, I do hate bigoted nuns and the like. Tell us a bit more about them."
Monica replies "Well, over the course of a couple of weeks, their religious sentiments were getting more and more annoying. Soon after that, though, I got several calls from people saying that they were being mugged and attacked by these people. We weren't going to stand for that."
Angelika nods very seriously at Monica. "Naturally you weren't going to stand for it darling. Were they just holier-than-thou hypocrites?"
Monica says, "Yeah, they were pretty indiscriminate in their killing."
Angelika pans the camera over Monica. "Fabulous darling! Now, many people think your boss, Cooper, is an impossible old codger." Angelika's expression is unfathomable "Won't you tell us something about the Cooper you've come to know."
Monica replies "Well really, he cares about this organization as much as me. He's a wonderful man, and without him I'm not sure if I'd be alive today"
Angelika nods seriously and somewhat sanctimoniously at Monica, clearly making a supreme effort to be objective. "So darling, are you telling me that Cooper is ... a closet gentleman!"
Angelika nods very seriously, as a muscle twitches in her neck, revealing the emotional self-discipline that this statement requires. She wears a somewhat comical expression of shock on her face.
Monica: "He is a gentleman.. that's not to say he doesn't have his occasional outbursts, everybody does, but they always have provocation"
Angelika swallows slightly, perhaps remembering her own many successes in the rather entertaining business of provoking Cooper. The camera zooms in on Monica's face as Angelika replies lightly, smiling at Monica. "Naturally darling, though he should really cheer up, not everyone is lucky enough to work with someone as gorgeous as you."
**
Angelika looks superciliously at Demonika, "See, Monica's gorgeous, and she simply loves him!". She clicks the remote again, switching to a bright summer scene of volleyball, shot on the NC beach.
**
Kirsten and Angelika are lying under a shocking pink umbrella on the beach in New Carthage, watching a men's volleyball match with great, though well-disguised interest. They sip luridly coloured drinks, seemingly appropiated from the BL90. After they tire of surreptitiously rating the men's respective physiques, their conversation turns to more serious topics.
Angelika flicks back her platinum hair as if entirely unaware of the attention generated by her microscopic and almost entirely transparent bikini. She looks appealingly at Kirsten, her voice only just audible over the loud masculine grunts and shouts of the sweaty players. "Kirsten darling, do say something nice about Cooper and the PK. His interview with me came out shockingly, and, given our history, I'm desperate not to look totally biased against the crazy old coot."
Kirsten lies back, her purple high-cut bathing suit glistening in the steamy sunshine . She glances over cat glasses in matching purple "The PK work tirelessly to help out the innocent citizens of the westside when they can. Often for little or no pay and no rewards. They are targeted by those who are cruel enough to not only harm them, but their friends and families as well."
Angelika nods delightedly at Kirsten, "I just know there's another side to him - not the semi-psychotic nasty fascist that everyone loves to hate, but something different. Do tell us some actual stories - of course he's too shy and retiring to brag."
Kirsten continues quietly "Cooper often takes the pittance that he gets as wages and donates it back to the PK to help out the other officers, not just himself.
Kirsten shifts slightly in her seat as she recalls how on more than one occassion Cooper has saved her own life. "What kind of stories would you like to hear?"
Angelika looks at Kirsten with a strange mixture of envy and admiration on her face, now entirely oblivious to the charms of the grunting volleyball players "Oh darling anything gory and heroic will do."
Kirsten nods slightly her gaze drifts upwards as she speaks as if trying to remember something clearly, "I know that on one occassion he personally saved me."
Angelika's nostrils flare as she suppresses an unbecoming emotion. "Oh fabulous darling, do tell the whole story."
Kirsten chews on the corner of her mouth for a second and then says, "I'm not quite sure how it happened but I wound up dying in the sewers and Cooper found me. He came to the clone vats and waited for me to wake up to tell me what happened. He escorted me to the bank so I could get enough money to purchase another clone. All this while the KiNgS were out patrolling for him."
Kirsten's face shimmers in the post-apocalyptic summer heatwave "This was quite a while ago....early January I believe. We've been able to piece together that after we took my body to the cemetery we, that is Cooper and I were attacked by Osiric and Tigana. They had been lying in wait...we suspect, and knowing their modus operandi its probably true, in the first floor of the Hitachi Commerce Center."
Angelika glances quickly at Kirsten, extremely intrigued by Kirsten's uncharacteristically sincere expression.
Kirsten sighs softly and shakes her head, her auburn hair tumbles about her shoulders, "It was a shame really. He lost so much to help me that day. All his implants, all his armour, all his weapons. And just to help me...an ordinary citizen. A bartender and a decker."
Angelika feels the urge to enter the competition "Oh darling, I know just how you feel. He lost all his armour and implants because of me too.' Angelika rushes on, hoping Kirsten will not expose her little sin of omission. "And darling, now tell us something vaguely human about him? With an element of pathos?"
Kirsten laughs quietly, "I don't know how he got this recent reputation for not being human or even good. Sure he liked to play the field a bit in the past and that can mean he's left a trail of broken hearts but Cooper is a decent man. A good man. He spends so much of his time living on the edge, struggling and struggling and he does it thanklessly for the most part. The people that donate money to the PK and Cooper...they're the only ones who show thanks and a lot of them..." she gives Angelika a somewhat pointed look but it quickly disappears, "think that means they can demand things of him and the PeaceKeepers."
Angelika blithely ignores Kirsten's little jab. "Thank you darling. I just knew you'd help me!" Angelika smiles sweetly at Kirsten, continuing "Something just told me you'd be the local expert on all things concerning men. Thank you for helping us get to know the true Officer Cooper. He may just be the one Good Man in New Carthage."
**
The scene cuts to a medium shot of Tempest Kendall, who enjoyed a brief moment of fame on the NC music scene. Tempest is performing on an intimate little stage, before an open window. She uses her hands when she sings. Gesturing slowly as if trying to create movements to go with the picture that her words create in her mind. Languidly they flow through the air drawing attention to themselves and to her. In contrast her posture is relaxed and open, even welcoming, as if creating an intimacy or a familiarity without doing a thing.
Her silvery platinum blonde hair is gelled up slightly so that it looks as if she just crawled out of bed. On the back of her neck a gothic 'D' has been tattooed into her skin, the black ink contrasting starkly with her pale flesh. Her violet eyes are rimmed with heavy khol and dark lashes. Her wide mouth is painted a dark purple. Buckled around her long pale neck is a dark red collar with rounded silver studs on it.
Tempest runs her tongue over her dark lips and smiles as her fingers softly move along the strings of the guitar, "Peacemaker die, Mr. Righteous One, you say you have this plan? If we care to understand."
An image of Cooper fades in, his cold eyes and intent gaze obscuring Tempest from view.
Tempest’s voice murmurs "Peacemaker die..."
Her voice fills out slowly from a breathy whisper, as she sings the next verse "Peacemaker die, Mr. Nice Guy, you dare to speak the truth? I’ll twist and turn it into lies."
In the background, Tempest’s playing quietens "Blessed are the warmongers, Blessed are the warmongers, for they shall be called, Man-made Gods"
Tempest’s voice finally breaks off as she reaches the end of the song, she whispers "Man-made Gods."
**
Neurotika looks back at you in extreme close-up, a muscle twitching in her face, "Well, do you feel better, now that you know the NCPK is keeping the peace for you?" The camera zooms out, and you notice Neurotika is well-esconced in her own securely shut little coffin.
**

Episode 8: NC's Rentacops
A familiar voice sings the loud brash lyrics of a reggae song tinged with metal sounds. "I shot the sheriff But I didn't shoot no deputy, oh no! Oh!...I shot the sheriff But I didn't shoot no deputy, ooh, ooh, oo-ooh." You suddenly see Demonika in her trademark reds, stradling a bright red Fusaka just west of the Checkpoint, which guards access to the east side of New Carthage.
Demonika flips up the visor on her motorcyle helmet and reveals her somewhat sinister sneer. "This time around its not a good man we're searching for, we're introducing you to the rentacops -- and in a city like New Carthage they're so easy to find." She grins sardonically, "Just look for the nearest gathering of Anarchists."
Demonika flips her visor back down and the camera zooms back out. Behind her are a stream of running anarchists, all holding ready weapons, and set on a direct path towards the checkpoint.
Demonika takes off, the engine of her motorcycle roaring loudly.
**
In the next scene, the burning and pillaging of the anarchist revolt is left far behind, traded isntead for the serenely lavish headquarters of the New Carthage Security Patrol (NCSP). The massive hall is done in black marble with gold gilded walls and on the ceiling. The golden NCSP logo is embossed in an expanse of burnished chrome and bronze across the well polished black marble floor.
Looking somewhat out of her league Angelika strides with mock bravado towards a foppishly aristocratic man with a silly little name. The camera focuses, curiously, on Eron Bagwell. You see the interim chief of the somewhat depleted New Carthage Security Patrol. Tall and athletically built adequately describes Eron. He stands near 6'5" and looks like a track runner. His hair is black and parted neatly to the side. Long sideburns adorn the sides of his face. His face is very skeleton looking, almost like you can see through his skin. His eyes are a charcoal grey and look like they may have a bit of a bluish haze to them. Eron wears a suit cut of a neutral obsidian silk, in a military style popular in Europe during the latter half of the Eighteenth Century. The suit consists of a jacket, open down the front with a high standing collar and tails. The jacket is cut of heavy charcoal silk, and has decorative buttons down each side of silver, with an elegantly set onyx gem shinging within the heart of each. The jacket is made with wide shoulders, enhancing the natural form of his well-defined body. His wears a vest which has been fashioned to accompany the suit, cut close to the body and well-fitted. Silver and deep burgandy stripes mark the fine silk of the vest, and it closes to the neck with dramatic silver buttons. A spill of crimson lace falls from the throat to tuck in between the third and fourth buttons of the vest. Eron is wearing a heavily oiled holster. A pair of simply but tightly cut dress pants match the jacket, buttoned up the front at the hipline, the buttons forming a line from the waist to nearly six inches above the knee. The pants fasten with elegant silver buttons.
The dark Eron smiles at Angelika and in turn at the audience, "Welcome to the New Carthage Security Patrol Headquarters."
Angelika flashes a glowing smile at Eron, switching effortlessly to the fake intimacy of a documentary interview. "So Eron darling, thank you for agreeing to this interview."
Eron nods soberly, and says, suavely, "It is of course, my pleasure."
Angelika asks a question which is likely to resonate with many new arrivals to New Carthage, "First of all, could you explain to us the role of your organisation, the NCSP?"
Eron nods, having perhaps expected this question. The camera angle changes, capturing his profile and the outlined shape of his lace cravat. He admits, with a somewhat pained face, "Right now, the NCSP is at a bit of impasse...We're...restructuring..."
Eron continues, adding, "But alas, the signs are good..." He smiles widely.
Angelika nods, seriously, raising her elegantly plucked eyebrows, her tongue in her cheek. "That was a very eloquent introduction, Eron darling."
Seemingly flattered Eron starts up again, "We've got an immense amount of people applying for jobs...It's really great to see the amount of love for this city that our citizens have."
Eron follows this with an exuberant gesture, illustrating his words by pointing up towards the gilt ceiling. "Things are looking, should we say....up."
Eron gives a grin to the camera and displays his most regal face.
Angelika smooths back a few stray locks, and follows Eron's gesture, looking upwards. The camera too is turned towards the ceiling as if looking for the divinge inspiration that only Eron seems to find there.
Angelika nods, pretending that she too sees it and asks another hard hitting, serious question, "On a personal note, why did you decide to become an officer of the NCSP?"
Eron: "Well, I grew up in this city, here on the East Side...I always had a love for this town, and thought that this was the best way to display it...to work for the people." The camera focuses more closely on Eron's face as he speaks.
Angelika's voice is light and playful as she nods, sucking her cheeks in. "For the people, Eron darling. How lovely."
The camera angle changes, widens, and we see the stark contrast between the ornate and somewhat ridiculously dressed Eron and the marble lobby that he oversees as Eron agrees, "It's the best job for me."
Angelika nods seriously, touching her tongue to her blood-red lip in what is either a primitive mating sign, or just a quick lipstick check.
Angelika homes in again, "So Eron darling, if you had three things to warn new arrivals to New Carthage, what would those three things be?" Eron gestures wildly as he exclaims, "Well, there shouldn't be anything to _warn_ anyone. New Carthage is the gleaming crystal of the old West. We have everything to be proud of. We've got great economic opportunities, a beach, great casinos, and a great shopping area here on the East Side. I'd say, enjoy your time here!"
Eron continues, with equal enthusiasm, "Sure we've got our problems, but what town doesn't?!"
Angelika flicks the hundreds of tiny silver beads on her wig back behind her bare brown shoulder. They tinkle musically as they fall into place, impeccably styled. She nods encouragingly at Eron. "Fabulous darling. I do so love a dreamer." She continues more seriously. "But just in case our viewers are so unlucky as to run into any of our little problems, what do you think would be their best protection?"
Eron's face is captured from below in a decidedly unflattering angle that makes his chin look both pointy and weak. He warns, waving a dismissive hand "The best protection is to stay in well-lit areas...Stay in the nicer parts of town and you'll be fine."
Angelika nods at Eron, flashing a beguiling smile again. "And, for the benefit of our viewers, Eron, perhaps you could show us some of those safe areas on this map" she points to the large city map on the wall behind Eron.
Eron agrees with his usual exuberance "Certainly! See all the safe areas" He motions over the whole East Side of New Carthage. The camera zooms in on the large wall-map, hesitating briefly on the much larger west side and then panning over to the relatively small east side enclosure.
Demonika's shrill caustic laughter cuts into the scene. "Safe areas?" She grins wickedly and presses a button on her remote control and images of screaming corporate citizens running from the angry mob fly towards you, until you can almost smell the fear under their expensive aftershave. With another click the terrified east-siders are gone and so is Demonika.
The scene jump-cuts to Angelika in her beaded wig and skin tight black leather dress standing in front of the outrageously dressed Enron.
Angelika comments, tongue in cheek again. "Aren't we lucky indeed. A whole safe neighbourhood.... So darling. Now for the million dollar question - how do our viewers find their way to these safer areas?"
Eron smiles in a patronising manner and explains as if to a retarded child: "Well, you just go right through the checkpoint, simply show your id to the friendly NCSP officer, and make your way through."
Angelika nods at Eron, very seriously, now. "And for those of us not lucky enough to have their own corporate ID card, darling? How do we get to eat sushi?" Angelika clearly thinks sushi is an issue of very serious import.
Eron smiles and nods to Angelika, "If anyone has issues with obtaining access to the East Side, it's because of one of two reasons."
Angelika nods at Eron, still smiling, but with a slightly guilty cast to her expression now.
Eron expands, marking his points on two fingers "First, they have some sort of criminal record, or second, they choose not to be...It takes all kinds to move the world, yes, it takes different strokes to move the world."
Angelika nods at Eron, not really following his logic, "What is it we choose not to be, Eron darling? I'm all in favour of choice, but was not aware that I had actually made one in this matter... " she runs her tongue over her teeth in that brief, strangely primal gesture again.
Eron asks, "You're over here now aren't you?"
Angelika smiles delightedly, saying, tongue in cheek again "Yes, darling. What impeccable logic."
Eron chuckles in reply."People like drama dear...And they make a lot more of the wall than they should."
Eron says almost under his breath, "Thugs like Lewski, belching from the tallest soap box they can find.... To me, it's much ado about nothing."
Eron's features are brought into sharp focus almost causing you to wince at the severity of the angle, while Angelika's voice encourages him to continue in this vein, "We do see what you're getting at, darling. The east side is for the east-siders. Now, could you perhaps warn our new arrivals about the main criminal personalities on the West side? Some of them seem to have been eluding your grasp rather successfully?"
Angelika winks teasingly at Eron.
Eron says, "Sweetheart...", and looks down at Angelika from his 6 foot 5 frame, "With all due respect...I've been the Chief here for three days. Rome was not built in a day. Lewski, the leader of the KiNGS, is my personal, number one objective..." he continues, a manic look in his eyes, "A bit of a personal obsession."
The focus changes and once again you see the sophisticated stylish Angelika standing near the hideously dressed Eron as she asks sweetly, "Of course...any other major names on your to-do-list, darling?"
Angelika looks down at her immaculately manicured nails, obviously bored by the macho posturing of the preposterous man.
Eron says, chuckling to himself "Kentaro, Lewski's lackey."
Angelika nods, mock seriously, sucking in her cheeks. Eron says, "Or toadie is more like it." Angelika glances surrepticiously at the camera, clearly hoping her favourite mugger Kentaro is watching.
Eron licks his lips for a bit, "If that's where this line of questioning is going, I admit I'd have to say that the KiNGS are the objective right now. But that is more personal than mandate from anywhere up the chain." He gives a lopsided grin, "And as I said, we're restructuring."
Angelika's interest sparks noticably, her nostrils flare slightly, as Eron suggests a personal angle to his desire to get even with the town's ruling bad boys. "How fascinating, darling. Do tell us how this personal quest of yours came about, and the origin of these dreams you just shared with us?" Eron says, "Well..." He looks down at the ground. "As a student at the Terminus Academy for Law Enforcement...I came upon reading that hit a little close to home...Guy by the name of Ross and _his_ lackey had done their best to take over my city....To ruin it."
Eron chuckles, "Now that Ross has disappeared it seems that Lewski is in charge, and that this boy kentaro is his personal boot licker." He sighs. "It's all the same, only the names have changed."
The little beads on her wig tinkle as Angelika nods, her slightly unseemly interest dissipating noticably. "So, in the last few seconds we have with you, tell us, what would our city look like if you managed to achieve your desire?" She grins, somewhat vampirishly.
Eron says, "Gleaming towers, a city with rich economic prosperity combined with a low crime level. A place where the little fear that we have of walking the streets would be eradicated."
Angelika gives Eron a saccharine smile and says, "Fabulous darling. Thank you so much for giving us this intimate glimpse of the mind of an NCSP officer."
Eron bows respectfully to Angelika, his lace cravat dipping low and threatening to spill out of his buttoned waistcoat. He stands up and escorts Angelika out of the building.
**
The camera pans over the burning cityscape and the heavily mortared checkpoint as Demonika stands atop a building across the street, her red hair dancing behind her in the breeze. She turns towards you and her dark red lips, almost the color of congealed blood, turn up into a smile. "Our darling little Angel didn't make much of an impression on the dead Eron. Perhaps she should have complimented his clown outfit more, to ensure immunity from persecution by the noble guardians of our fair city."
**
You are suddenly looking at an impeccably dressed Angelika being manhandled by an armored NCSP officer.
The much taller officer looms over the dainty Angelika and says in a cold voice, "You have been designated for imprisonment by NCSP. I am authorized to use force. Surrender to me and I'll stop attacking." He spins his tonfa up along his forearm and moves up to Angelika, intent on dishing out a severe beating. He forces a powerful blow into Angelika's right calf with his tonfa.
Angelika winces and cries out in pain, almost certain that something has broken. And you hear a sickening crunch, indicating she was right.
**
You next see our darling Angelika bravely sitting in a filthy cell in what can only be the NCSP's private jail. Standing over her is a tall woman.
Eleanor speaks with a heavy New England accent, "Yaw quite ungrateful, really, cawnsidering." She scratches the side of her nose with her free hand. The little action draws your attention away from the lovely, vulnerable, Angelika to the loud and brassy Eleanor.
Eleanor's bright green eyes stare out from her long, smooth, tanned face, small onyx studs resting in her ears, her lank black hair, streaked with a most unatural shade of red, pulled back into a tight little ponytail. Eleanor is comfortably clad in a black turtleneck shirt, the fabric just loose enough to allow glimpses of the antiballistic weave between the dual layers. On the upper right side of her torso gleams the irridescent violet sphere of Fade Industries. Eleanor is wearing a red denim jacket, fastened shut by small copper buttons. The boxy fabric shimmers as she moves, obviously reinforced by metallic threads. Strapped to her right upper arm, is a small black ammo satchel. Her hands boast long fingers, long nails coated in a purple-sparkle nail varnish. Eleanor is wearing a pair dark colored corduroy pants. The charcoal and light grey fibers shine occasionally in the light, revealing the armored nature of the clothing. She is wearing a pair of black suede hiking boots. They have a meticulously shined steel plate covering the toes.
Eleanor looks down at Angelika as she struggles against the handcuffs that are holding her, "Chill out, I'm nawt heah to attempt sodomy of any kind awn you." She turns towards the door and walks with a loping grace, pausing as she gets to the door. "If yaw still heah tomorrow, I'll bring you some food."
Angelika nods at Eleanor, nostrils flaring as she glances in terror round the cell. "Naturally darling."
Eleanor nods, firmly. "Well, you can eithah pay yaw fine, aw mail Svet with the details and hope to get let out latah."
Angelika looks up at Eleanor a glimmer of hope in her eyes as she smiles at Eleanor. "No darling I'll pay!" She asks, "How much?" The tall, odd Eleanor says in her harsh accent, "As faw yaw equipment, you -may- get that back if you ask nicely enough. But nawt yaw weapon."
**
Again you are with Demonika on the roof of what looks to be Reverend Jim's. She laughs and waves a finger at you, "Tisk tisk. Now don't be naughty like our little Angel." She turns and looks at the flames burning across the street.
Your gaze is drawn to the inferno, and suddenly walking out of the flames is the dark figure of the deliciously dressed Tempest.
Tempest is carrying her dark purple guitar and singing out loudly as the revolutionaries charge past her heading for the corporate zone to search for loot, "Yeah! All around in my home town. They're tryin' to track me down; They say they want to bring me in guilty...For the killing of a deputy, For the life of a deputy."
The firelight is reflected off Tempest's black vinyl bodysuit as her blazing guitar riffs drone out the shouts of, "DOWN WITH THE NCSP! DOWN WITH THE PIGS!"
From the dark burning of the night of revolutionary revel you are transported to a pristeen clear sunny day. The sun glints off the Parallel Resurrection building and standing in front of it drumming her chipped, bitten nails on her little silver PR bracelet is Neurotika.
Neurotika looks around her as the people mill past and looks up at you. "There was a recent scandal when suddenly members of New Carthage's bad boy club started tapping PR for rescues. So it seems that if you can't be secure eastside you can nonetheless purchase security westside."
Neurotika's eyes widen in horror as she taps her PR bracelet and is immediately evacuated away from a situation in which clearly the only danger to her was the New Carthage sunlight.
**
Phoenix Soze, pilot for Parallel Resurrection fades in, with the PR CMAe Viggen AV-41 behind him, its tilt-jets slewed in ground position.
Shot from below, Soze cuts an imposing figure. As he will readily admit, corporate employment has clearly boosted his self-importance to an extreme. A tall man with broad shoulders, he normally moves with an easy glide, but today he is pacing around like a caged animal.
On his face is a sturdy pair of wraparound battleshades, of black and chrome carbon fiber resin frames, impact resistant, with vivid red lenses. A lightweight headset covers his ears with thin foam earpieces. The PR headset's bead mike is tucked against the side of his cheek. Soze's head is covered by a short crop of blonde hair slicked stylishly foward. His chin is square and clean shaven. Soze is wearing a bodysuit of thick mesh fiber. Held close to his body by a series of adjustable straps, the suit is a deep rusty red that fades to small trails of silver at the seams beside the zippers. His hands are long-fingered and seemingly deft. Strapped across his left thigh is a matte black ammo bandolier. His right thigh bears a matte black kevlar plated tactical holster, complete with quick-release straps. His feet are protected by a pair of obviously armored matte black combat boots. The toe is protected by a polished steel cup, perfect for crushing the ambitions of the weak and polished to a mirrorlike shine.
Soze takes a minute's break from some very hush hush intrigue to deliver the PR advertorial. "Clone Arrangers and Clones-R-Us are your basic bargain basement options. In contrast, Parallel Resurrection clients are safer from clone failure and, if they have our bracelets, from muggers. Oh, and there's a 50% discount on our little bracelets if your clone data is in the PR database." He gives a mocking chuckle, and boards the CMAe Viggen AV-41, nodding politely. "Now excuse me, I have some impulse shopping and ambition crushing to do."
**
The CMAe Viggen takes off and behind it you see Tempest, the rather short-lived singer whose tragic and controversial career left several New Carthage thugs with broken hearts and/or empty credsticks. Her blonde hair frames her pale fash and heavily kholed violet eyes, drawing you closer as she cups the microphone and sings into it, the skirt of her red dress fluttering behind her in the breeze. "Revvin' up your engine...Listen to her howlin' roar...Metal under tension...Beggin' you to touch and go ..."
The scene fades out in an extreme close up on Tempest's lips, as they sing "Highway to the danger zone...Ride into the danger zone..."
**
Angelika winks broadly at you. "Although it might be hard to believe after meeting Eron, Eleanor and Soze, darlings, there is life after corporate employment. Remember the fabulous story of Jake Skinner which we heard in Episode 6? And then, of course, there's the spectacular Penumbra, who'll show us that not all ex-corpies lack a sense of style."
Angelika, a small smile playing around her lips, indicates a TRI-V, on which you see the lithe figure of a young woman boarding a sleek jet.
**
On the TRI-V you hear a low rumble of jet noise building, and then shrieking as a Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet desends from the sky and flies overhead.
Angelika peers out from the balcony of Public Housing. The rusted skeleton of a guardrail hangs off the side of this balcony,threatening, any day now, to complete its decay and tumble down into the alley below. An adjacent apartment building, having found poorer fortune than Public Housing, stands silent and burnt-out across the chasm, a nearly identical window, sans balcony, directly across from you. The reek of months-old garbage wafts gently up from the alley below, quickly blending with the charcoal odor of smoke from the ventilators above you to become a single noxious scent. To the left, a scrap of Pullman is faintly visible between the two towering apartment blocks, and to the right, the remains of the south Wall lay open to the southern Wastes and the pockets of Old City standing defiant.
Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet swings around in a tight turn, dodging hovertraffic as it slows and approaches the edge of the building. This AV is cutting edge, at least as far as Russian Kombinat designs go. The delta wing and forward-swept canards give it high maneuverability, and the sleekness of its fuselage hints at supersonic capability. Two TurboMeka engines are buried under armored air intakes and vectoring nozzle assemblies. Its low-profile canopy sacrifices visibility for aerodynamic smoothness.
Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet steadies itself and balances just on the edge of the balcony with barely enough room to set down. Clotheslines and discarded papers whirl around in the blast of its jet engines. The Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet's doors unlock.
The Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet hovers, vectors its engine nozzles, and touches down. From inside Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet, you hear the muffled voice of Penumbra saying, "Cleared inside. Hurry."
Angelika steps into the Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet, hanging onto her fedora for dear life.
The pilot of the Yakovlev AV-35Y is a tall striking woman dressed in a skin tight black bodysuit that covers her hair and most of her face. Her voice is smooth and expressive. It resonates lower than most women's voices do. Covering her eyes are a pair of Gunshin tactical goggles. Nestled between her breasts is a small holster. You can't see much of anything below her waist due to the somewhat cramped conditions of the cockpit.
Penumbra powers up the engines, and the Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet lifts off and pulls away from the ground
"Grab a seat, and hang on," Penumbra tells Angelika, gesturing at the single seat in the rear of the cramped cockpit as she moves the controls with her free hand.
Angelika smiles up at Penumbra from the rear of the cockpit, "Spectacular darling."
Penumbra grins crookedly at Angelika's reflection in the cockpit canopy, "I knew you'd say that. Hang on."
Angelika settles herself into the seat and checks to make sure that the camera is catching her at a flattering angle.
Angelika pans the camera around the little cockpit. All glass, digital cockpit displays and holographic readouts are embedded in and around the canopy, which curves over two front-to-back ejection seats. The controls are side-mounted and have a tight feel, optimized for maneuverability. The rest of the cockpit is barely large enough to move around in unless seated.
The scene cuts to an outside view of the Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet as it edges away from the balcony, accelerates, and merges with the flow of hovertraffic above street level on Pullman.
Back inside the cockpit, Penumbra pulls back on the controls and launches the Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet to climb up to altitude.
A panoramic shot though the jet’s front windshield shows wispy cirrus clouds curving from one horizon to the other, fading upward into a deep blue sky. The streets of New Carthage sprawl far below, a gridded expanse of hot concrete. Glass and metal gleams on corporate arcologies, and plumes of smoke pour from silicon refineries, stretching out over the coast.
The Pacific Ocean is an impossibly dazzling, electric blue under the uv-laced light of the sun. The horizon is obscured by a film of milky, humid haze.
Another outside shot takes your breath away, as the Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet rolls inverted and plummets through layers of oncoming traffic, heading for street level far below. This impressive footage could only have taken by a companion aircraft.
Just in time, Penumbra steadies the vehicle in a holding orbit over the destination and slowly steers the jet down Pullman and Fuji
Angelika holds tightly onto the seat, closing her eyes.
The horizon wells up and expands as Penumbra begins a steep descent. Penumbra asks "You're not a barfer, are you?"
Angelika looks highly offended, despite the fact that she has turned a pale shade of green. "Oh never darling!"
Penumbra chuckles, "Yeah, most people say they aren't, right up until the end. It's okay. We'll set down someplace quiet." Penumbra steers the vehicle on a heading to the northeast.
Angelika glances over out of the window, then closes her eyes again. The horizon banks in a gentle turn as you watch New Carthage drift by below.
Penumbra steadies the vehicle in a holding orbit over the destination. The horizon wells up and expands as Penumbra begins a steep descent. The Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet slows to a graceful hover, and backs behind a giant billboard on the roof of the Shangri-La apartment building, mostly hidden from view.
You look out on empty stretch of rooftop spackled with pigeon poop and broken bottles of cheap synth-ale. From your vantage point here, you can see down onto the streets below.
When she regains her normal coloring Angelika says, "That was magic, darling. So much smoother than Jeeves."
Penumbra sets the controls for auto-hover and stretches her arms as she turns in her seat halfway to look at Angelika, "It'll be quieter here. Smoother than Jeeves? Maybe. But I appreciate the flattery."
Penumbra pushes her goggles up over her forehead and tugs the hood of her bodysuit away from her face, letting it dangle around her neck. Dark, short-cropped hair falls in front of her green eyes as she attempts to tuck it behind her ears.
Angelika does a quick lipstick check, and nudges her curls into place, glancing sidelong at Penumbra, as she begins. "Fabulous darling. Let's introduce you to our viewers. This is the famous but reclusive Penumbra, New Carthage pilot extraordinaire... "
Penumbra watches Angelika's reflection in the cockpit glass, "I, uh, think I might have some gloss in the map case there. But it usually melts. Might not be your color anyways. Oh, yeah..." Penumbra composes herself clearing her throat, "Penelope Beauvais. But everybody calls me Pen. Or Penumbra. I'm only mostly reclusive. And not the only pilot in NC, but sure."
Angelika smiles slightly at Penumbra "You're certainly the sanest pilot I've met here, Penelope darling. Now, do tell us the story of how you got to be a pilot. Most people never get past the wannabe stage." Angelika mentally reminds herself not to gush. It is somewhat too late for that, of course.
Penumbra spares a glance at the instruments and speaks with a hint of distraction as she pauses to touch the controls or flip switches from time to time, "Well, everybody starts as a wannabe. I just didn't know I was one. I was born into a corporate family. When my parents died of radiation poisoning, the company took me in at their orphanage."
Penumbra pauses, appreciating Angelika's fedora for a second, before continuing, "When I was sixteen, they took me out've the orphanage one day and started training me. It was after they'd given some tests to all the kids. I guess they knew something I didn't. That's when my life began, really. When they started training me to fly AV's." She hesitates, looking for some cue from Angelika.
Angelika nods seriously at Penumbra. "Yes darling, do carry on..."
The camera zooms in for a close-up on Penumbra's intense green eyes, cropping the shot just around the hood of her bodysuit.
Penumbra turns away from Angelika and looks outside as she pilots the AV in a slow turn, surveying the surrounding streets. She continues talking over the low roar of the engines. "Right. So ADP, that's Aerospatiale Dassault/Panavia, the company my parents worked for, I became part of their flight division. I went through an accelerated syllabus with them, and was doing strike level stuff by the time I was eighteen. I ended up as a section lead by the time I was nineteen, and I was leading division sorties a year after that. It wasn't a bad life. Well, as long as you didn't worry about why you were doing the flying. And the shooting."
Angelika nods at Penumbra, nostrils flaring. "So tell us, who were you shooting for ADP darling?"
Penumbra seems completely at home in the cockpit, resting in the ejection seat as if it were a sofa in her living room, "Oh, you name it. The standard corporate targets. People, rivals, terrorists funded by the opposition. It was mostly air-to-mud, but sometimes we did some air to air work. Shooting down shuttles and transports sometimes. But eventually I became expendable to them."
Angelika narrows her eyes slightly. "Awful darling. Do tell us what happened?" Angelika tosses a stray curl back over her shoulder, panning the camera across the little window of the jet, and then back to focus curiously on Penumbra's face.
Penumbra steadies the AV in another hiding spot behind a holographic geisha billboard and turns back around to look at Angelika over her shoulder, "Not as awful as it could've been. I mean, the story's got a happy ending, because I'm here. Well, sorta. So anyways. I flew with them until I was 23. That was my hundred and first mission. They'd totally misjudged the opposition, and we lost the entire strike package. I mean, the _entire_ strike package. Gone. I went down last. I woke up here, in New Carthage. Records wiped, no creds, no accounts. They never admitted I existed. Not that I ever tried talking to them again. I think they'd prefer it that way."
Penumbra tilts her head to listen to the radio scanner for a second, then shrugs, dismissing it.
Angelika nods at Penumbra, raising an eyebrow. "So darling, when did you stop being Penelope Breguet Beauvais and start being Penumbra?"
Penumbra smiles crookedly at Angelika, her expression light, "But this's all, like, ancient history. I mean, it's before RSI invaded, before TBO got lasered, even before the EMP attack. Oh, that part? Well, see, I picked that up in training. The guys wanted to call me Moneypenny, but the lead instructor gave me Penumbra as a callsign. I'm so used to hearing it all the time, it's mostly my real name now anyways."
Angelika breathes in audibly and flashes a very white smile at Penumbra "Now darling. Some little birds have been twittering in my ear, saying that this magnificent jet of yours is 'corporate backed'. Can you respond to that rumour?
Angelika crosses her left leg demurely over the right.
Penumbra shakes her head expressively, "Totally bullshit. I _quit_ a job at Parallel Resurrection so I could contract out independently and fly this. I got tired of being, like, limited. By a corp. So I quit. My contact hired me to fly this after that. For business. Then he left town, and I bought it from him. This aero belongs to me. I saved for years to buy something like this." Noticing Angelika's pose, she adds, "If we've gotta eject, be sure to put booth feet back on the footrests. Otherwise you'll snap your femur. The acceleration force."
Angelika uncrosses her legs, with unladylike haste. Angelika nods at Penumbra. "Absolutely. I can't bear formal employment myself."
Penumbra grins crookedly at Angelika, "It's okay. Make yourself comfortable. We won't be punching out today. If I can help it. I'll warn you beforehand. It's not polite to eject and leave a guest in the cockpit by themselves." Nodding, she replies to Angelika, "I stayed in corps for a long time. Interorbital, Cross Marion, PR. Because it felt safe, and secure. But it was time to move on."
Angelika focuses the camera briefly on the digital cockpit displays and holographic readouts. It is a single, molded composite display of green holograms, its perimeter lined with various line-function keys and miniature controls. "So, where are the gun controls on this thing?"
Penumbra turns forward, settling into her seat. "You want the short tour, or the long one?"
Angelika grins at Penumbra, "Oh tell me everything darling. We can edit out my snores later. My audience just loves gadget thingies. Especially ones that you can use to kill people."
Penumbra returns Angelika's grin crookedly as she pulls her goggles back down over her face, "Right. Okay, from the top, then. This's a Yakovlev AV-138 navalized aerodyne variant, produced by the Yakovlev design bureau. Powered by two Turbomeka R-350 afterburning engines and a single RL-100 lift fan, total thrust produced is ninety thousand pounds static sea level. I've armed it with a 7.62mm high velocity flechette minigun and quad wing racks of Dailung AT-5 standard multipurpose missiles. Fire control's handled by a Sanguinius track-while-scan millimeter wave radar system. With me so far?"
Angelika follows Penumbra's gestures with the camera, looking somewhat glazed, though she says, "Naturally darling."
Penumbra points and gestures at dozens of touchscreen displays, switches, and levers in the cockpit as she speaks, "Uh huh. In your rear cockpit, you've got radar and sensor controls. Up front here, I've got fly by fiber quad channel flight controls and a holographic HUD. Our top speed's two point one two Mach, flat out, at altitude. But it's not very good on gas milage and doesn't carry the kids or the groceries well. I'd give you a flight demo, but, well, you know. Wouldn't want to ruin your fedora."
Angelika grins at Penumbra's concern for her fedora, "Now Penelope darling, this radar system and the missiles. Bet you're often tempted to just erase someone who irritates you, or won't leave you alone?" She smiles at something probably best left unspoken.
Penumbra shakes her head, "Well, actually, I try and avoid it. It's so fucking expensive to use this thing. And a pain in the ass to get replacement ammo. But I came back from living in northern Europe a few months ago. And the first thing that happens to me is I get killed by some fucking tumbleweeds when I'm trying to have a drink with my friend. So it's not like it's _my_ idea to go around morting people with 7.62mm flechette shots to the head."
Angelika glances up from under the brim of her zebra-striped fedora."How much would it set me back, exactly, to get you to swat an irritating little mosquito for me?" Angelika glances briefly at Penumbra, sucking in her cheeks.
Penumbra glances at Angelika's camera for a moment, then gives Angelika her full attention, "That depends. I haven't taken a contract in a while. And I don't take every contract I'm offered. It's like I said. I'm independent."
Angelika grins at Penumbra. "Just as well darling. I'm utterly broke. But if I wasn't, and you were agreeable to the contract, what would you charge?" Angelika zooms the camera in on Penumbra's face again, for an extreme close-up. The camera focuses in on her eyes, until the green iris fills the entire screen, with crosshairs superimposed.
Penumbra says, "Like I said. It depends. Sometimes I don't even charge, if I think the target is just begging to get shot anyways. But my standard is the Hold-down. I cover a target area overhead and make slash attacks on the target whenever I see it. If it doesn't kill them, it keeps them indoors and out of my client's hair. That's three to five thousand a week."
Angelika breathes in excitedly, a vein pulsing in her neck. "I can imagine that you're awfully effective darling." She smiles ravishingly at Penumbra "Now, should we go scare some nasty people?"
Penumbra watches Angelika's expression carefully and chews on her lower lip briefly, "I'm pretty effective in most situations. But it's mostly tactics, not the hardware, that does it. I don't mean to be a drag. But it's not my style to just randomly gun down somebody. If I could, I'd just fly it. For the fun of it. But there's always some asshole who needs killing."
Angelika looks astonished. "Oh I didn't mean kill someone darling. So messy... Just scare the wits out of them." She smiles at Penumbra, trying again. "I'll hold onto my hat, I promise." Angelika grasps the brim of her zebra-striped fedora, and removes it with a significant glance.
Penumbra arches an eyebrow at Angelika, "Oh. Sorry. Well, some people don't scare as easily as others. But I suppose we can try. It'll probably just piss them off. But, hey, you never know. Hang on."
Penumbra disengages the auto hover and pushes the throttles forward, slamming the AV into a lurching climb towards the sky. She steadies the vehicle in a holding orbit over the destination, scanning the scene below. "There're four targets in the area, none are moving. Respotting."
The Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet hugs the street, skimming along a few meters above the concrete as it swings around traffic, people, and buildings. Penumbra nods "Two targets in central downtown, both stationary. Sweeping west."
Outside the cockpit, Daz walks in from the west, and then immediately moves off to the east, as Penumbra flashes the Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet's external lights.
Angelika grins broadly at Penumbra. "This certainly beats a cab, darling."
Penumbra says, "Looks like that guy decided to duck into the park. Oh. Yeah. It's a little more sporty than a typical cab. Plus I keep the seats cleaner." She frowns faintly, "Nobody ever sticks around to say hello. They're always thinking I'm gonna shoot them. Like I'm some sort of airborne mugger. As if I've got that little style."
The Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet roars over the packed streets at a discreet altitude, only knocking over a few pedestrians and shoddy street booths.
Angelika smiles at Penumbra. "Do tell me about officer Tayce Alita, darling"
Penumbra nods, "Oh. Tayce. Well. I didn't know anybody remembered _that_."
Angelika shrugs at Penumbra. "Naturally I don't remember darling, but apparently it's on your criminal record. I only got here six months ago."
Penumbra seems amused at that, "It's on my _record_? That's so, like, cool. I've always wanted to be a criminal. Sort of."
Angelika grins at Penumbra "I know darling. I also have a criminal record, and I've decided it's ultra cool..."
The camera focuses on Penumbra as she flies the jet, "Tayce Alita was a NCSP officer when I worked for PR. PR went to war against NCSP after a bunch of shit NCSP pulled, including shooting at us. She fired a few missiles at me. So I had to shoot her to get her to stop."
Penumbra glances over her shoulder at Angelika for a second, then looks back at the controls, grinning privately for a moment.
Penumbra: "There's a little more to it. See, she ran out of missiles, and just sorta hopped up and down and yelled at me. She stood there daring me to shoot her. She kept dodging. I mean, it was a hard shot. It'd be _so_ not stylish to gun down innocent bystanders if I missed. But finally I pulled enough lead and strafed her head. It exploded in mid-taunt," says Penumbra.
Angelika snorts with laughter.
Angelika looks highly amused and most delighted. "Oh fabulous darling! That is my favourite type of story... Was she as sanctimonious as the current NCSP crowd?"
Penumbra nods, adding, "Yeah. She's, uh, was, about as sanctimonious as they get. Fucking annoying little bitch. Excuse my language."
Outside, on Hitachi Street, Marco comes into view.
Penumbra grins crookedly and says to Angelika, "Here, watch this."
Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet's loudspeaker blares on the street outside, "HALT. You're under arrest."
Angelika smiles delightedly at Penumbra.
The Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet's loudspeaker blasts out a command at Marco: "Don't attempt to move. You're under arrest by the fashion police."
From outside, Marco shouts, "VERY FUNNY"
Angelika shouts back, "You're so way out of style, you're the funny one!"
From outside, Marco shouts, "WHAT HAVE YOU GOT AGAINST MY FEDORA? OR IS IT THE BLUE-SUEDE SHOES? THE REFLECTIVE METALLIC SHIRT?"
Angelika shouts, "Aarghhh!"
The Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet's loudspeaker blasts out "THAT FASHION WENT OUT WITH LAST YEAR'S BEIJING WINTER SHOW."
Marco shouts back, from outside, "THE FEDORA WILL NEVER DIE"
The Yakovlev AV-35Y Jumpjet hovers overhead of Marco, its loudspeaker commanding, "TAKE IT ALL OFF RIGHT NOW, OR WE'LL TAKE IT OFF FOR YOU. BY ORDER OF THE FASHION POLICE."
Angelika sniggers uncontrollably.
**
The scene cuts back to Tempest on the tarmac, her nimble fingers flying over the guitar strings as the crowd assembled around her sings along with enthusiasm. Her voice is raw and husky as she belts out over the noise of a jet roaring over head, "Headin' into twilight...Spreain' out her wings tonight...She got you jumpin' off the track...And shovin' into overdrive..." She leans into the microphone.
The scene cuts to Neurotika, in the audience, wearing her silver PR bracelet and raptly watching as Tempest sings out the chorus, "Highway to the danger zone...I'll take you...Right into the danger zone...."
Neurotika notices the camera, and turns, looking directly at you, the camera focusing in extreme close-up on her face with its unfortunate nervous twitch. She nods seriously. "Whether its corporate cops for hire or private security firms and entrepreneurs, New Carthage has it all. Now I just wish I had the cred to hire my very own little rentacop"
**
Tune in next time to find out about New Carthag's cyberdocs and meet Dr. FeelGood.

**
Episode 9: Sex and the City

The opening shot is of Demonika, with her trademark red dreadlocks, dressed in a minute black leather mock business jacket and skirt and black stiletto heels. She's carrying a riding crop and addressing a classroom full of men. Her minute designer outfit is clearly inspired by the current craze for porn chic.
Demonika smacks the desk in front of her with the riding crop. The loud *smack* brings everyone to rapt attention. "This episode is about sex. If you're here, you're obviously not clever enough to know how to get it." Her large nostrils flare in contempt. "Poor pathetic losers."
Demonika turns towards the camera, pointing her riding crop at it, "The marvels of modern medicine and technology can spice up your sex life. Don't despair, this might just work, even for you. So pay attention, all you sad little perverts...." Demonika's sneer intensifies as the camera zooms to an intimate close-up on her dramatic, tawny features, focusing on plum-coloured lips as she whispers "Lonely fans of Reality Bites, we know that's not the remote control in your sweaty little paw."
**
The image on the screen spins, imperceptibly switching to Angelika, who, by comparison to her red-haired clone, looks positively warm and comforting. She is sitting ensconced in a masculine room with a dark leather couch and a dark wooden desk. From somewhere the strains of a faint song emerge and a husky feminine voice croons, "Its not unusual to be loved by anyone...Its not unusual to have fun with anyone..."
The music fades away, and the honeyed tones of Angelika in conversation with Eyre become audible.
Eyre smiles warmly, and poises himself, looking comfortable before the camera. "Hello, I'm the District Manager for Med Shield, New Carthage"
The camera focuses in on Eyre. His dishwater blonde hair is short and clean cut, ever so slightly spiked forward. His bright green eyes have faint incandescent circuits printed across the irises. Just below his left eye, he has a small blue tattoo consisting of 3 horizontal bars in a descending triangle pattern. The first horizontal bar in the tattoo starts immediately below the eye and is approximately 1 in length, the second bar is about 1/2 in length, and the third bar is approximately 1/4, bringing the symmetrical design to a close. His cheeks flow down into a slightly squared jaw which tapers evenly into a strong chin. Eyre is comfortably clad in a black turtleneck shirt, the fabric just loose enough to allow glimpses of the antiballistic weave between the dual layers.
Eyre says to Angelika, "Sure, I'm always glad to do something for the city.." Eyre gesticulates slightly, benevolently indicating the whole city and inserts his first shameless plug for Medshield, "Med Shield, for those who don't know is a multi-national corporation who provides medical services."
The scene cuts, almost imperceptibly as Angelika nods seriously, "Lovely darling. And now tell me more about your MedShield motto. "Implants make you sexy", hmm?" Angelika winks broadly at Eyre.
Eyre nods, saying, "If someone say, came up and grabbed your credstick, isn't it sexy to know your partner can quickly draw their gun, shoot them in the back of the kneecap, and go get your credstick back? If someone where to come up and called you a slut, it's nice to know that your partner can shove their face -through- the wall. And muscles just aalways look better."
Angelika looks delighted at this turn of the interview "Now that you mention it, darling. It rather does."
Eyre smiles at Angelika, not at all surprised by her tastes. He continues as if slightly interrupted, reiterating the point about muscles, "Unless you want to look like DoughBoy... but I don't know many people who find that attractive. In short, implants can fix a lot of natural deficiencies that make people unattractive to the opposite sex...or same sex, if that's your thing. Or, implants are sexy in a completely different sense.. a simstim rig will hook you up to make your own simstim movies...Just like the famous actors.. And fame is always sexy.."
Angelika practically salivates "Oh do tell us all about that one, darling."
Eyre nods soberly."Well, a simstim rig will allow another person or device, to tap into your senses. They see what you see, feel what you feel. It's like being inside their body. You really just can't go wrong with them, in moderation."
Angelika nods seriously, eyeing Eyre with intent concentration. "Darling! Do you have one of those?"
Eyre replies "I don't have one implanted, but I do have one in stock. Also, for males, there is an implant to fix any....shortcomings, shall we say, that you may have.. Like I was saying, that appeals to our male audience...a Mr Studd definately makes you sexy... you get the size you want, and can last all night, every night, and she'll never know the difference."
Angelika grins, thinking of her poor bodyguard who might be in the market for Mr Studd. "Darling, does the male one really help them keep it up properly?"
Eyre nods, "Oh definitely. As long as you want. And even better, females can't -feel- the difference between a Mr Studd, and someone naturally endowed of that size."
Angelika nods vehemently as if that is the first time she really understands the part about cyberdocs being a service to society. "The wonders of science, darling." She returns to her real interest. "Now. About that simstim rig. Could you tell us more?"
Eyre looks over to Angelika, seeing a potential customer "That it's an incredible thing.."
Angelika says impatiently, "Come come, tell us exactly how it works."
Eyre: "Imagine having sex while jacked into your partners senses.. It works by tapping into your nervous system and broadcasting those signals to another source. The effect is that you could have the experience from both sides.."
Angelika looks as if she is about to faint on the spot.
Eyre shifts to a less lascivious tone, keeping a somewhat nervous eye on Angelika. "It of course, has military, and entertainment purposes as well. It could allow a commanders to tap into their soldiers and get first hand information on the situations. It could be hooked up to a fighter, for the ultimate fighting experience, without risking your own neck."
Angelika's eyes are gleaming, she is ignoring the more boring applications.
Eyre nods soberly. "They aren't too expensive either, with the average set running about 13k for the implants."
Angelika wonders if she should blow her entire production budget on this very essential piece of equipment. She gasps, nostrils flaring "So, Eyre darling, when can you do me?"
**
The scene cuts back to Demonika in her classroom, once again tutoring her romantically challenged pupils. She pauses in her lesson and snickers into the camera, "Now boys, size does count. Mr Studd worked for Cilix Brown, it might just work for you..."
**
From the classroom you are transported to the popular coffee house on High Street, Arabica.
A cluster of small wooden tables sits between the bar and a small stage in this old coffeehouse. Most sit unoccupied, though the usual smattering of strung-out junkies, wannabe rockers, and bored teens are camped out, sipping "Keith Richards" from ceramic mugs while discussing "the Kevorkian Bill," or "how lame the music scene is in this town," or "who's got the phat stash." Psychedelic posters advertising poetry readings and political meetings adorning the available wall space. The camera pans about the Arabica, focusing briefly on some of the people here. Gwen is standing behind the bar looking petulant and bored. Hiro is standing here. Cilix -((- is here with a monster bulge in his pants that runs halfway to his knee.
Angelika, walking into the bar, as always the camera following her. She pauses for a moment and then smiles slightly at Cilix. "Goodness darling, you weren't exaggerating."
Cilix chuckles softly to himself.
The camera focuses in on Cilix. The man before you stands at what you would guess to be about five foot, eleven inches tall, and maybe 160 pounds. His eyes remain steady, and his hands seemingly calm. His movements are fluid, as if he has planned them a day in advance.His deep brown hair seems to be shaggy and unkept, the end result being a rug of long hair descending to just above his eyes. His chest has a light patch of dark hair over his firm pectorals. This light patch of hair however can not cover up the five bullet scars he has on the left side of his chest. A small tattoo of a Pyramid with an eye in it's center is located in the middle of his left upper arm. Directly underneath the pyramid are numerals CX. He's wearing a pair of buttoned cargo pants, they are struggling to restrain his massive endowments. He wears a pair of scuffed black leather boots that come to mid-calf.
Angelika smiles at Cilix again, sucking in her cheeks slightly. "Darling, do tell the viewers about your very interesting implant."
Cilix says, "Err.....well it's a Mr.Studd implant. Which basically is a major augmentation to the male sexual organ. It was made to give maximum pleasure to the recipient, and a major ego boost to the proud owner."
Angelika nods matter of factly as the camera zooms in on the massive bulge in Cilix's pants. "Thank you darling, Eyre has already told our viewers all about the more technical side of it. I'd like you to tell us your story from a more ... personal angle, if you could."
Cilix nods and says, "Well....this thing is actually quite nice. When you enter a bar, people move out of the way so you can sit down." Cilix shrugs and uncomfortably adjusts his crotch area, "Although it is somewhat cumbersome, I mean hell, they just don't make pants baggy enough for this behemoth."
Angelika nods encouragingly at Cilix. "Cilix, darling, I'm afraid we still don't know why you felt the need to install this particular ... enhancement?"
Cilix shrugs again and says, "Well, frankly I was bored, and needed something to spice up my time in New Carthage."
Angelika sucks her cheeks in ironically, feigning sympathy. "So before Mr Studd came into your life, Cilix, things were a bit dull and grey for you?"
Cilix nods, "Sure were, was the same thing every day. Wake up in the morning, get a cup of coffee, go to work, and go home. It frankly just wasn't enough. When Mr.Studd came into my life, it changed everything. I felt like I could go anywhere, and do anything, many times. I feel it would be a crime to keep this amazing device all to myself. I must give someone else the chance to experience the pleasure and pride of owning a Mr.Studd unit."
Angelika steps back, nodding, looking for all the world as if she swallows Cilix's rather implausible explanation. "I see darling." She looks over to the camera then, winking broadly. "Well, now that you've shared your fascinating story with us, would you perhaps show the ladies of New Carthage what they've been missing?"
Cilix shrugs slightly and replies, "Sure, I have nothing to hide." Cilix attempts to extricate boots from feet without the aid of a bootjack. He succeeds admirably after a few moments of effort. He unfastens the fly and pulls off his buttoned M/N cargo pants in a single hurried motion and yawns and leans up against the wall
Angelika gasps, knees buckling visibly.
The camera focuses on Cilix, travelling slowly down from his head, and moving slowly down his naked torso. His chest has a light patch of dark hair over his firm pectorals. This light patch of hair however can not cover up the five bullet scars he has on the left side of his chest. A small tattoo of a Pyramid with an eye in it's center is located in the middle of his left upper arm. Directly underneath the pyramid are numerals CX. The camera comes to rest on Cilix's cybernetically enhanced male organ, which is massive and capable. It promises sexual pleasure of pornographic proportions.
Cilix smirks at Angelika, "Quite the view, ain't it?"
Angelika nods, unable to look away as the camera edges Cilix's unnaturally augmented anatomy in undisguised prurient fascination. "Oh my God, darling, I certainly do believe that Mr Studd livened things up a bit for you. And could you tell us what your ...victims, I mean, girlfriends, had to say?"
Cilix grins, "Well, they were sort of in a state of awe, I believe a few started praying to God and thanked him for allowing the creation of such a wonderful device."
Angelika swallows nervously, and steps awkwardly backwards towards to the door of the coffee shop. "Goodness gracious, darling, I can well believe that. Shiva himself couldn't compete, I'm sure." Angelika exits the coffee shop unable to resist one last, astonished, look over her shoulder.
**
Neurotika snickers as she turns towards the camera and says quietly, not wanting to interrupt Demonika's lesson, "If you're bored with yourself, or your lover regularly falls asleep at the crucial moment, there are other remedies to be had.... for some its just a quick trip down Fuji to Drazen's Mod Shop, for a change in their religion."
**
From the classroom you are whisked away to a crowded nightclub where a familiar figure is commanding the stage. Tempest, guitar in hand is belting out the lyrics of a cheeky song, her purple lips forming the words that she sings out,"Never judge a book by it's cover...or who you gonna love by your lover...Sayin' love put me wise to her love in disguise...She had the body of a Venus, Lord imagine my surprise...."
**
The scene in the nightclub ends and you are now in a lavishly decorated apartment. Angelika is seated on a leather couch with a familiar figure to many New Carthage residents. She smiles broadly as the camera zooms in on the fabulous Lynx Xara. Angelika instantly assumes the slick appearance of a media personality. "Thanks for joining us today, Lynx Xara."
Lynx Xara smiles charismatically and e runs a hand through eir silver hair, "It's a pleasure to be here, Ms. Angelika."
Angelika looks into the camera, flashing a perfect white smile. "As you may all know, Lynx is terribly well known in New Carthage. Apart from being celebrated as one of our best-looking residents, she's also famous as a deck engineer and mechanic."
Angelika asks "Tell us about the average day in your life, Lynx darling."
The camera once again zooms in on Lynx Xara.
Lynx's hair is a shimmering silver, and it stands short and spiked from eir head like chrome. Eir eyes are silver, to match the hair, and they seem to glow lightly in darkness. Eir skin has a slight tan to it. A glowing, amber tattoo circles around eir left eye, looking almost like the rays of the desert sun. Lynx Xara's form-fitting indigo blue silk-look MeshGirl Weskit protects eir upper body completely, from its high plasteel-reinforced collar to the nipped in waist. The flexible abdomen and groin protector is cut high on the legs and the flared, paneled skirt protects the base of eir spine and hips. Swirling decorative stitching in indigo and pink define eir breasts and glowing blue highlights accent eir waist and back, combining to artfully disguise plasteel and mesh ribbed inserts. The inserts and decorative accents extend down the arms as well, with extra thick ribs at elbows, bracer mountings and wrists. Her hands are smooth with long dexterous fingers and a few nicks and scratches. Strapped to Lynx Xara's leg is a 10mm clip ammo holder. Slipped into the little pouches are numerous 10mm Grimm Reaper clips. A pair of snug, reinforced pants cling to eir lower body. The deep indigo blue color is lightly underscored by an almost glowing shine of lighter blue, a glow that grows brighter under ultraviolets. The ornamentally embroidered cord of pink and indigo is tied into a bow at the waist and adds a definate feminine flair to these armored leggings. Stitched over a back pocket in matching pink and indigo thread is the word 'MeshGirl'. On eir feet, Lynx Xara wears a sensual pair of indigo blue MG Combats with lightweight platform soles that rise up sleekly to just below eir knees, protecting eir shins and ankles with molded, flexing plasteel. The indigo coloring glows softly with blue highlights.
Lynx Xara shrugs eir shoulders and e sits back on the couch, looking distant for a moment, and then at the camera, "Well.. an average day pretty much involves nothing incredibly exciting. I fix a few decks, strip some clean and work on any vehicles that need repairs or installations." E pauses for a moment, "There's the common dodging of thugs, but thankfully I don't have too much of a thug problem."
The camera slides over Lynx Xara's highly attractive and unusual face, lingering for a moment on eir sun like tattoo, and then zooms out to travel slowly, with a discernible fascination, over Lynx's fashionably clad form.
Lynx Xara grins broadly, "Westside is dangerous to people who don't know how to run the gauntlet, or who don't have common courtesy or common sense."
**
Neurotika clicks the remote again and rolls her eyes as behind her on screen you can see the fast forwarded images of Angelika's interview with Lynx. "Please, lets get to the juicy bits. The real...._meat_ of the matter." She presses play and again you are with Angelika and Lynx Xara. For a few seconds the voice of Tempest sings out over the dialogue, "Oo, what a funky lady...Oo, she like it, like it, like it, like that. Oo he was a lady!...Dude, dude, dude, dude looks like a lady...Dude, dude, dude, dude looks like a lady...Dude, dude, dude, dude looks like a lady..."
**
Angelika smiles in a somewhat vacant way at Lynx Xara, looking vaguely guilty, as though flirting with someone on coms, and not paying attention to eir answer. She pauses for a moment longer than she should after Lynx finishes speaking, before gushing "Fabulous darling!"
Lynx Xara reaches over and pokes Angelika, "Earth to Angelika." E grins.
Angelika blinks, looking entirely demure, apart from the giveaway flaring nostrils. Angelika smiles at Lynx Xara sardonically, moving closer to Lynx Xara, as the camera gets a very close shot of eir face to capture eir reaction. "Now darling. Do tell us why you are the most popular person in New Carthage."
Lynx Xara blushes a little and e rubs the back of eir neck, trying to look modest and bashful, "I wouldn't say I'm the most popular person in NC.. I just have a demeanour that most people lack.. I'm friendly."
Angelika breathes in lightly. "Oh Lynx darling you are so dreadfully modest. That's not what I've heard the girls, and boys, saying in the bar."
Lynx Xara blushes, "Well.. I don't know what these rumours are.." E grins and eir eyes sparkles, "I am a Spivak, but I don't know if that makes me incredibly popular."
The camera pans pruriently over Lynx Xara's fascinating, and, unfortunately, fully clothed anatomy.
Angelika: "Oh goodness darling, you'll have to explain that. 'Spivak' sounds like some kind of spanner or wrench unless you know better."
Lynx Xara grins as e watches the camera, "Heh... it means that you have the best of both worlds, really.. some are born naturally, mine is a mod. Some people don't like the idea of this type of modification, but hey.. everyone has their own opinions. I don't really want to get into it too much, it is a very private manner."
Angelika nods with a very obviously faked sympathy, and then closes her eyes briefly, clearly suppressing some inconvenient and probably highly inappropriate memory. "Awfully private parts darling. Let's just say your toolkit is well equipped for any emergency, and draw the curtain!" She smiles ravishingly at the camera. "Now darlings, if Lynx isn't the best incentive for you all to figure out how to stay alive in New Carthage, I don't know what is!"
Lynx Xara laughs lightly, "Yes.. I'm always fit and ready for any emergency.." E grins and shakes eir head, watching Angelika wrap it up.
Angelika glances over at Lynx Xara, a small smile playing around her mouth, as the scene fades to black.
**
Demonika nods imperiously, as she points a ruler at a complicated, and probably obscene figure on the board in front of the classroom. "Now repeat after me, boys"
The class choruses obediently, their voices incongruously deep, "More cred. More fun. More cred. More fun."
Demonika smirks sardonically. "When you have the cred, it's amazing how they all dance to your tune Let's see New Carthage's richest cyberdoc put our sweet little Angelika through her paces."
**
Angelika is dashing in a zebra-striped fedora, and wears a silky lime-green slip of a dress by Vivienne Westwood, with matching platforms. She flashes a suspiciously ravishing smile at Asclepius, "Hello Asclepius darling. I do love your place."
Under the cheerful, if antiseptic lighting, this spacious flat has a flourescent, gritty atmosphere of shining lucite and chromed tech appliances. Broad tinted windows admit a view of aircar and hovertraffic outside, a bustle that's muted to dull whispers by the room's elegant soundproofing. Geometric motifs reflect a European stylishness that's picked up by the coordinated carpeting and ceiling tiles. All mass produced. The bed is perfectly made. The camera dwells briefly on a circular hot tub, which occupies the corner of the room, with inviting bubbles and tempting steam rising from it.
Now, Angelika's camera focuses in on Asclepius, who is about 6' tall. His build is not very large, but not exactly small either. He is heavily armoured in expensive armour which covers his entire frame from head to toe, obscuring all his features. A thick kevlar/nano composite of a desert combat helmet covering his head, with combat gloves and a black full-body experimental environment suit by Mortius Biotechnologies. Over the armour he wears a long white lab coat with a large red cross behind.
Angelika pans her sexy little camera around the room, slowly moving its focus over the rather unusually luxurious surroundings, by New Carthage standards. "Fabulous darling. Thank you for inviting me to interview you here in your lovely home! So terribly kind of you."
Asclepius chuckles softly and then smiles, "Well, you are very welcome. Since I promised you an interview many weeks ago, I figured that I really didn't have much choice other than to invite you over for this."
Angelika's nostrils flare slightly as she recalls the months of prostrate begging and bargaining required to get Doc to agree to this particular favour. She assumes a formal tone, which is utterly fake and unconvincing. "Tell me, Doctor Asclepius. Do you mind if I call you Jason?"
Asclepius shrugs a little bit before nodding with a smile.
The angle of the camera changes subtly, only just enough to be perceptible. Angelika smiles at Asclepius, now looking strangely distracted, with somewhat dilated pupils. "Angelika is just fine, Jason darling. Now, tell us a bit about yourself, we're dying to hear everything. How did you get to be the richest chap in town?"
A haze of something looking suspiciously like steam or smoke swirls in front of Asclepius's somewhat flushed face, blurring the focus of the expensive camera, which adjusts admirably.
Asclepius chuckles softly and clears his throat a little bit, "Well, I really don't think I am the richest person in New Carthage. But I got what I have through a lot of hard work, making some smart choices, and a little bit of luck."
Angelika sucks in her cheeks, which are an unusual but attractive rosy shade under her smooth brown skin. "Now darling. Let's get to the naked truth. Tell us exactly how much lovely stuff you do have. Apparently you have more than only this apartment..."
Asclepius shrugs a little bit and then nods, "Yes, that is true. I do normally keep more than one apartment. After all, it isn't very smart in this city to keep all your eggs in one basket so to speak. Nor is it good to have it that your enemies always know where you are. So multiple places come in very handy."
Asclepius smiles deprecatingly, "And this one really isn't much. This is pretty much just the apartment I use for storage, but also to have guests over, and for business deals."
Angelika looks around the apartment with interest, and, probably, some measure of envy. "Jason darling, do you have any idea how lucky you are to have more than one apartment? Most people would die for that."
Asclepius chuckles softly, "At one point I ran this building, had the penthouse, 2 other apartments, the clinic, a store, and a garage. Since then, I've cut back a little bit."
Angelika smiles wryly through the strangely pervasive steam, small beads of moisture forming on her forehead and cheeks. She smiles ravishingly at Asclepius, licking a little drop off her upper lip. "So darling, tell us! This is very interesting - many of us can barely afford our nightly coffin rental. And I have to fundraise my little butt off to afford my 4k weekly apartment rental. How much do you pay for all your real estate?
Asclepius chuckles softly, "4K a week rent isn't bad. I think total I pay almost 20K in rent."
Angelika nods, indulgently, perhaps somewhat patronisingly. "Darling, do tell us what are your most prized possessions?"
Asclepius answers "My most prized possession is probably my clinic, since it allows me to do the work and research that I love."
Angelika looks disbelieving at this rather boring preference, but politely allows it to pass. She winks at Asclepius. "The million dollar question is, Jason darling, how did you get all these goodies? Just by doing implants and operations? Do tell us so we can get some too!"
Asclepius chuckles softly and just shakes his head a little bit, "Honestly, I don't think there is any set formula to 'making it rich'. You just need to be patient, have some skills, and have a little luck. I mean I've been in this town for over two and a half years to get to where I'm at now. And I've spent that whole time working very hard."
Angelika sucks her cheeks in again, nostrils flaring again in disbelief, as she zooms in on Asclepius's face, the camera picking up the slightest shift in his expression. "Darling, none of the other cyberdocs are anywhere near as wealthy as you, they have told me as much! You are being coy and modest now, and keeping your secret to yourself! You must have some very special tricks up your sleeve."
Asclepius chuckles softly at your last comment, blushing very slightly before he responds, "Well, I'm really not sure what you are hearing, but it does take alot of hard work to get on top. It takes a very unique mix of skills to be successful. You need to have the skills to operate, but also the business savvy to be able to run the clinic profitably. You also need to be available to your patients as much as possible. Some cyberdocs try to make it by only being on coms an hour a day at the most, and honestly, that isn't enough. Also, it helped that when I came to this town, the city was having a severe shortage of doctors."
Angelika relents, allowing Asclepius to get away with this rather slick and highly edited version. Her face is curiously beaded with tiny drops of water, her wet, artificially long eyelashes forming black spikes as she closes her eyes, drops of water running down her rosy cheeks. "Now tell me darling, what do you do about the temptations of all your power. Don't you find that you are tempted to abuse it every now and then?" The camera edges down slightly, catching the rim of what seems suspiciously like a hot tub to you. It then jerks up again quickly, just before you can be sure.
Asclepius bites his lip a little as he looks Angelika over and thinks about the question before answering, "Well, I guess that depends on exactly what kind of temptation I am facing. But the largest check that I have against abusing my power are my morals. I was raised well, and that has stuck with me through everything."
Angelika blinks, and is clearly not convinced by this rather competent spindoctoring, but smiles indulgently. She leans over slightly, moving into the frame of the shot, revealing herself to be sitting inappropriately close to Asclepius for an interview of this nature. Her face is now streaming wet and highly flushed, almost implausibly so, as if in the height of passion. "Well Jason darling, at least I can vouch that your morals are entirely sound, and that you are indeed a very well brought up young puppy, sorry, I mean young man."
Angelika gasps, realising that her control of the situation is weakening noticably, and switches off the camera.
**
Demonika stands theatrically before the assembled class. She taps a silver cane on the floor. "Well, it's your choice boys..." She smiles slightly "Are you going to be like darling Doctor Jason, and trade on your influence, power, and pretty boy looks, chasing after anything in a skirt for fun? Or are you going to emulate Drone 56a and simply terrify your very unwilling victims into submission?"
**
The scene shifts to a wide somewhat empty room, which you recognise as a quiet lounge leading off from the bar at the Syndrome. Along the eastern wall is a small stage. The majority of the floor is empty tile, for dancing, fighting, unsuccessful seductions, or anything else that requires a lot of room.
In the middle of the stage is a young girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, standing just over five feet tall and weighing an athletic one hundred, fifteen pounds. Andrea keeps her distance from most people, the shy aura of deception and mystery surrounding her every move.
Drone 56a, the ruthless killer, is perhaps not as cold-blooded as many believe. With a surprisingly lecherous expression, he focuses an outdated camera on Andrea.
Andrea's soft pale skin encases her face delicately as her bright green eyes and copper hair stand out. She wears a tightly cut bodysuit.
Drone 56a's icy voice feigns a very unconvincing warmth as he tries to persuade Andrea to strip "Now just try to relax...and show me how sexy you are..."
At this somewhat awkward awkward moment, Six the janitor, a small asian man, wanders in with a pane of glass tucked under his arm. Unconcerned by his interruption of this peculiarly inept seduction, he replaces the window, humming softly to himself. He then sweeps up the broken glass, and sanitizes the area. Afterwards he lingers in a corner of the lounge, glancing over at Andrea and Drone with some curiosity.
Drone 56a grabs the zipper of Andrea's bodysuit in one hand, and pulls it down slowly, while filming with the other hand.
Drone 56a steps back, exercising masterful powers of seduction "Why dont you take over, now that its started."
Andrea very reluctantly unclasps the fittings on her bodysuit and pulls the garment to the floor.
Drone 56a zooms the camera in on the naked girl, the shot cutting off her head, which the drone clearly considers entirely dispensible.
Her young breasts stand out with vivarent perk from her chest, the soft pink nubs of her nipples standing half-erect as a gentle breeze rushes through the area. A tight six pack of abdomenal muscles lies beneath her chest, flat and taught, the young skin casing her body like a glove. Her sex is shaven clean, revealing soft pink lips and the appearance of a spring
tulip. A slight bead of moisture can be seen on her outer labia, between folds of delicate skin.
The janitor glances at Andrea, from the corner of the room. He seems extremely amused.
Somewhat obsessively, Drone_56a aims yet another camera at Andrea, and a photo slides out with a whir, as the drone walks around, getting a variety of angles.
Drone 56a gestures abruptly "Now why dont you hop up on the pool table?"
Six the janitor, looking rather bored now, yawns loudly and wanders away.
Andrea suddenly says, "I can't do this anymore." She gets out her bodysuit, and quickly and very awkwardly, she dresses herself. The logo on the bodysuit stretches, conforming to her body as she conceals her uniquely vivarent breasts.
Drone 56a is very confused "What's wrong?"
Andrea blurts out "I....I don't feel right." as she frowns, heading west, back toward the bar.
**
Demonika punctuates a sequence of staccatto points with emphatic taps of her cane. "Boys! Technique is everything! Girls discuss these things! We love laughing at your expense!"
Demonika pauses briefly, her cane poised in the air, as she smirks "Word gets around chaps! Especially if you're famous!"
**
The scene cuts to Angelika's luxurious studio apartment. Angelika and Ulysses are seated together on the couch. Angelika leans over on the couch, looking at Ulysses, and smiling, more superficially now. "Be careful darling. It's not recommended to get to like me too much."
Ulysses chuckles at Angelika. "Didn't say I did like you, princess. Just almost. You're a feast for the eyes, but you've got your own agenda, and I don't trust you one hair. Still, you're doing a lot better than most people in this damn city. Most people I just can't stand."
Angelika looks momentarily wounded, but recovers remarkably quickly. She grins at Ulysses. "Darling, you really don't trust me?"
Ulysses shakes his head slowly. "Not really. But then, I don't trust anybody. Not even blood kin, these days. So that's not really saying much. And you're actually nice company, which is a pretty fair achievement." he looks at you carefully. "You know, I'm not sure what to do with you, to be honest."
Angelika shifts very slightly closer to Ulysses, and looks up at him, smiling ironically. "Now what exactly do you imagine your options are, Ulysses darling?"
Ulysses appears briefly hesitant, but maintains eye contact. "A couple of things, I suppose. Most women I meet tend to run through one of three scripts. Either I scare them off, they scare me off, or we share some good solid sex and part friends. Clearly, I haven't scared you off, and I'm not sure if you should be avoided. Which leaves me in a clutch; do I break a long-time rule and mix business with pleasure, or do I let you be?"
Angelika grasps the brim of her zebra-striped fedora, and removes it with a significant glance.
Ulysses traces Angelika's form. "And just keep looking?"
Angelika glances sidelong at Ulysses, smiling. She moves her hand over to lightly touch his dusty fingers. "Are you asking me to decide, darling?"
Ulysses smiles almost mockingly. "I guess so, yeah. It's been a good year and a half since I've been with a woman and you happen to be a lady. I'm rusty, I think."
Angelika clambers over onto Ulysses's lap, leaning lightly against Ulysses. "It's awfully hard to resist your offer, Ulysses."
Ulysses smiles and exhales rapidly, moving a hand to trace the contours of Angelika's back, lightly. "Well, that's an interesting start. Of course, what do we do from here?"
Angelika presses softly against Ulysses, as she slides her hands behind his neck, gripping lightly, she touches her lips against his and whispers. "Well darling. I always imagined it on your bike."
**
A slender red and purple figure in a fedora sings on a darkened stage, her voice dark and shadowy, despite the innocent lyrics. "She's my cherry pie... Cool drink of water, such a sweet suprise."
The slender girl moves into the spotlight, harsh shadows falling across her face as she croons. "Tastes so good, make a grown man cry."
She looks up, takes off the fedora with a flourish and you see that it is Tempest. She reaches out with her right hand and points at someone in the audience for just a moment as she smiles strangely, finishing the chorus "Sweet cherry pie... Oh yeah..."
**
Back again in the classroom Demonika snorts in utter disdain. She finishes her lesson and her devoted pupils chuckle quietly as they shuffle out the door. She pauses, wiping a little smirk off her face as she says to the camera, "Join us next week as we explore the best implants out there and the nasty side effects of cyberpsychosis." She turns back to an errant pupil and swats his knuckles with a wooden ruler as he says, "I will obey Miss Demonika. I will obey Miss Demonika," over and over again.

Episode 10: Cyber up

The opening scene is the workout room at Grimy's gym, a space full of men of various heights and builds, but almost all sweaty. The camera pans over the gaggle of men. Perspiration beads their brows and tanned chests.
Dressed in a thong-backed crimson leotard and leggings Demonika, with her dreadlocks pulled back, is lying on a bench press. She draws attention to herself as she grunts none too softly with each heavy lift. She glances briefly at the camera.
Across the room, seated on a little bench is another familiar redhead: the BL90's popular bartender, Kirsten. She is dressed in a pair of skimpy running shorts and a ripped t-shirt with a deep v-neck. Beneath the t-shirt you can see that she is also wearing a sports bra. Like Demonika her hair is pulled back. She is garnering male attention because she doesn't seem to know what to do with the complicated machinery around her.
Demonika grunts again, even more loudly, for the benefit of the camera.
Kirsten turns towards the camera and smiles. She brushes a few errant strands of hair back from her face and in the process lets go of the pulley she was holding. Behind Kirsten, a man with long blonde hair grabs for the pulley and saves her from being hit in the head.
Kirsten introduces the theme of the episode: "There are many ways to pump...yourself up. You can come here to the gym. Or spar with friends. But the most popular way to enhance your abilities is to fill yourself with chrome." Turning back to the blonde man she smiles ravishingly and says, "Can you show me again how it works?"
Rolling her eyes, Demonika sits up. As the weights drop back and clink together she says to the camera, "If you don't want to be a whip get your ass to a doc and get cybered up." She shrugs, nostrils flaring contemptuously. "Of course don't blame us if you can't take the consequences."
**
The scene cuts from the gym on south Joseki to the popular nightclub, Blacklight 90. We meet Eyre of Medshield and our darling heroine, Angelika Ransfield.
Eyre turns away from Angelika, looking directly at the camera, "At Medshield, we do have one of the largest, cleanest hospitals in the city, located on the 40th floor of the Nakamura tower, east of the money wall."
Angelika zooms the camera in closely on Eyre again, smiling innocently. "Now. Do tell us some of the disadvantages of those nasty implantations."
Eyre nods and says, "Well, when you get implants from an unreliable source, you can get severe infections.. These really are unattractive, they can zap your strength, make you sluggish..not to mention the puss leaks.."
Angelika nods seriously, turning green at the mention of puss, continuing with the next question. "And there are some other very inconvenient side effects of which you might have intimate personal experience, darling?" She winks at Eyre.
Eyre says, "Depending on the person, having numerous implants can be bad for your mental health, afflicting you with something we call Cyber Psychosis, or CP." He raises an eyebrow towards Angelika and says, "Proper counseling or removal of the offending implants will easily take care of any CP cases. The limit varies from person to person, and can sometimes creep up on you. CP should always be taken care of by a professional."
Angelika suppresses another smile. "That must be rather frightening to experience. It certainly was frightening to witness, Eyre darling."
Eyre nods, saying, "It can be.. a lot of CP cases involve delusions of conspiracy, and sometimes just raw displays of power. It can cause people to attack when they normally wouldn't. As I said before, proper counselling or removal of the offending implants will promptly relive any patient of all CP symptoms."
**
The scene shifts to a flashback to Eyre's recent public attack of cyberpsychosis, as a scene of fighting in the BL90 fades in. The camera work is shaky, perhaps because Angelika is ducking and diving to avoid being accidentally attacked by the psychotic Eyre.
From a sheltered position below the bar, Angelika zooms her Epoch mediaCAM Pro in on the bouncer, Harold, who is dealing with Eyre, as a threat to his customers. Dressed all in black, Harold's custom tailored shirt is buttoned to the base of his neck, and fits a bit loosely, allowing for free movement. His sleeves are
rolled up past his elbows, revealing muscular arms with tattoos of swords and daggers. Calloused large hands hang loosely at his sides. His slacks fit him snugly, yet appear to be made of a material that has give and stretch. Finishing his attire, are a pair of black leather boots.
Pardon, the notorious Rhino gang leader, later turned NCPK interim chief, is dancing around a crazed-looking Eyre, trying to avert the inevitable orgy of violence that accompanies an attack of CP in a crowded bar, saying to Eyre, "Wait.. be reasonable."
The transformation in Eyre since you saw him in the previous scene is remarkable. Looking at his aggressive visage and psychotic gestures, you understand immediately why Harold feels the need to remove him from the bar. He ignores Pardon's plea, In response, Harold throws a quick one-two combination at... the air, and Eyre turns and moves in to attack.
As Pardon starts getting aggressive, a turret lowers from the ceiling and pivots towards him. Pardon grapples Eyre into a wrestling hold!
Pardon gives up and flees for his life!
Harold throws a swift uppercut, Pardon turns away. In frustration, Harold swings with a jab combo, but Pardon's body bends neatly out of the way.
Eyre dodges Harold's fists attack.
Eyre finally replies to Pardon, looking marginally more sane "I'm trying, but my legs won't listen" Pardon snaps his fingers, disappointed.
Angelika, from her relatively safe vantage position, looks thrilled at how a boring discussion of implants in the bar has unexpectedly turned into some rather good action for her documentary, thanks to Eyre's convenient attack of CP.
Eyre narrowly avoids Harold's fist.
Harold throws a haymaker at Eyre which goes far aside.
Angelika's camera jumps to the attractive BL90 bartender, Kirsten, who looks sternly at Harold, and commands "Stop attacking him. He's sick."
Harold obediently drops his guard and backs off from the battle, then expostulates "Get the CP fuck outta here."
Eyre navigates through the press of people to the exit, shaking off the black light of the club like an inky cloak.As he leaves, Pardon lets out a shuddering breath and walks over to Harold and pats him on the shoulder, "He hit some yellow... He should be all right..."
**
The short flashback ends, and the scene fades back into the interview with a more sane-looking Eyre. The camera zooms in on Eyre again, for a head and shoulders shot.
"Well Eyre darling, I am so pleased that you seem to have completely recovered from your little attack of psychosis." Angelika smiles ravishingly. "Now, what would you advise new arrivals about to purchase their first implant?"
Eyre smiles and say, "Make sure your source is reliable, check our their area of work before going ahead with it... If the place is dimly lit, say, with a wooden table, and only one light bulb, with a concrete floor and a large drain grate, I would be very wary. See if they have any sort of guarantee against infection. And ask around about the Docs.." Eyre reiterates his point, gesticulating emphatically "Really, the best way is to look at their working environment.. If it's dirty, you can expect their implants to be dirty as well. And you really don't want to experience a nasty infection first hand...they're quite.....unattractive."
Eyre looks pointedly at the camera, shooting it a large smile. "And who wants to be unattractive?"
Angelika breathes in, nostrils flaring, as she turns to more appetising topics "Most of our new arrivals are in the thuggery business. Now how would you advise them on their first choice of implant?"
Eyre considers this and then answers, "While I can't condone thuggish actions, for anyone looking to be a bit tougher, the basic implants you want, really depend on your weapon of choice...If you're going to be the baseball bat type, you definitely want basic grafted muscle, and advanced muscle, if you can afford it. Decker types, would want neural co-procs version 1 and 2, perhaps some sort of vision enhancement as well. Mercenary types, would probably want the muscles and reflex enhancements, and possible a chipsocket... Chipsockets are interesting devices, they allow the usage of skill chips, which let you instantly know something. For example, insert a Japanese skill chip, and you can be doing business with the Japanese like a pro. Dermal armor is also a good choice."
**
The interview fades out as the camera pans up the length of Demonika's toned, well-developed body. She grunts very loudly as she hoists a set of extraordinarily large weights. Behind her, reflected in a mirror you see Kirsten. She is drinking from a bottle of water, her t-shirt plastered to her chest with moisture. She seems to be bobbing up and down in and out of the camera's view until again it pans back, and you see that she is in fact sitting on a man's bare back while he does push ups.
Kirsten smiles at the camera as she runs the cold bottle of water over her sweaty brow. "There is nothing worse than having to detox your body after a binge or a night on the town, is there? The easiest way to detox is to use a delicious little device, called a blood filter...."
**
The double doors to the MedShield Operating Room swing open, and Eyre arrives, the doors swinging closed behind him. Eyre is comfortably dressed, in a suavely casual style, nothing about his appearance indicating that he is a doctor. His dishwater blonde hair is short and clean cut, ever so slightly spiked forward. His bright green eyes have faint incandescent circuits printed across the iris. Just below his left eye, he has a small blue tattoo consisting of 3 horizontal bars in a descending triangle pattern. The first horizontal bar in the tattoo starts immediately below the eye and is approximately 1 in length, the second bar is about 1/2 in length, and the third bar is approximately 1/4, bringing the symmetrical design to a close. His cheeks flow down into a slightly squared jaw which tapers evenly into a strong chin. Eyre is comfortably clad in a black turtleneck shirt, and expensively tailored suit pants of a dark grey wool, and a full-length black trenchcoat. Both Eyre's ankle boots and the trenchcoat are both detailed with chrome and silver traced designs.
Eyre nods at Angelika as he walks in. "This is my operating room."
Angelika smiles at Eyre, saying, without much conviction, "Lovely, darling." She turns slightly, and sighs, looking like her feet hurt. She is obviously extremely exhausted from the ordeals of the obsessively clean, secure, and overly anal east side.
The camera turns towards Junki, who is to be Eyre's patient this afternoon. The camera zooms in on a head-and-shoulders shot of a pretty young drug addict, clad in a black leather collar, duster and boots. It focuses first on a pair of fuzzy white ears, decidedly feline, perched atop her head. Junki's face is pale, a few stray strands of blue hair dangle in the way. The shape of her head is pleasant, her nose is small and her cheekbones are slightly raised. Her green eyes are clear and bright.
Angelika smiles as the camera wanders over curiously to the steel operating table. It is a top of the line model with hydraulic controls to raise or lower it, lift one end or the other and has a section at the 'head' of it that slides down and back, allowing a patient to be placed on their stomach, their face held by a padded frame.
Eyre flips a switch, and nods at Junki, starting the pre-heat sequence for the table. "Give it a few seconds, it should be nice and warm for you." He turns to Junki, checking her order, "Just a blood filter, right?"
Junki grins slightly, nodding at Eyre. "Yep"
Angelika nods towards Junki, smiling at Eyre. "So Eyre darling, tell us about what you'll be doing to our little patient today."
Eyre replies "Well, basically we'll crack open her chest cavity, put a little device near her heart, and re-route her blood supply through it. This will give her the ability to instantly filter out any drugs that may be in her blood stream." He nods "It's actually a relatively simple operation."
Junki chuckles, rubbing her hands together in glee, but her friend Angelika turns a pale shade of green, and leans on the table to support her weakening knees. The picture shakes about slightly as she moves.
Eyre looks over to Junki, commenting in an off-hand, professional style which doesn't fool either of the women in the room. "Before we begin, I'll need you to remove all clothing covering your torso."
Angelika nods at Junki encouragingly, flashing a very bright smile, and perking up noticeably as she readies her camera.
Junki takes off her wR-InK Street Style Duster, revealing her naked torso. Her breasts are small, but average size for her age. They are firm, and have small pink nipples which stiffen in the cool air. They appear curiously vulnerable above her Ares combat fatigues, kevlar belt, and the black leather knife sheath, edged with chrome which is attached to her waist.
Feigning a total lack of interest in Junki's rather fetching anatomy, Eyre walks to the corner and slips into a disposable surgical smock, as Junki covers her pert little breasts with her arms.
Angelika smiles wickedly at Junki. "Darling, no wonder Raul is so protective of you!"
Junki winks at Angelika.
Eyre turns around, still not looking at Junki. "When you're ready to begin, just lie on the table."
Junki nods, asking "How long will I be out for?"
Eyre walks back to the autodoc controls and slides behind it, replying. "Not too long, the work should go pretty fast."
Junki sits down on the edge of the operating table, turns, and lies down on it. She settles down, and says, smiling, "Ooh, very warm."
Eyre glances up over the controls "Ok, when you're ready, give me a thumbs up, and I'll proceed, giving you some gas."
Eyre waits patiently for Junki to ready herself and give the signal.
Junki stretches out on the heated table, and grins widely at the camera before giving Eyre the thumbs up.
Eyre nods and says, "Here we go..."
Eyre presses a button and a hissing gasmask covers Junki's face.. rendering the pretty young drug addict unconscious.
A whoosh of air escapes the operating console as a vacuum sealed implant rises to the surface, followed by a rapid descent into Junki's body.
Eyre manipulates the autodoc controls, and the air is filled with the stench of burning flesh as Eyre's laser scalpel places the implant into Junki's perfectly formed chest.
Angelika grins in delight at the dramatic footage, while feeling her knees weakening noticeably at the sounds and smell of her friend's tender flesh fried by the laser.
Eyre uses some remote clamps to temporarily seal off Junki's arteries. Then, using the manipulator, he again carefully aligns several large blood pathways with the blood filter and connects them with a cauterizing laser.
Eyre unclasps the arteries, letting the blood rush through its new pathways on its way back to Junki's heart. He then closes Junki's chest cavity using the autodoc controls, and then carefully seals the surgical cut with another laser.
Angelika moves in as close as she can stomach to the operating table, the camera zooming in on the serene face of the poor unconscious girl, on the threshold of a new life, perfectly equipped with the ultimate accessory for her all-consuming habit.
Eyre proceeds to finish the surgery, using a quick-heal spray over the freshly closed wound to eliminate scarring.
Junki looks up from the table, green eyes blinking, and shakes her head groggily.
Eyre pushes a button on the autodoc and send it into a self cleaning cycle.
Angelika zooms her Epoch mediaCAM Pro in on Junki.The camera slides down onto her ribcage. You see only flawlessly healed young skin where one moment ago there was a huge gaping opening in her chest cavity.
Eyre gives Junki a quick examination, looking for signs of Cyberpsychosis.
Eyre nods at Junki, his eyes revealing some pride in his work. "All set, one blood filter in place. Everything went smoothly, and you show absolutely no signs of CP."
Junki sits up, and then looks down at herself, unable to see any signs of the recent bodily invasions she endured while unconscious, "Funky.."
Eyre sweeps an implant scanner up and down Junki, inspecting a readout on the device. "It's hooked up to your nervous system, so you can activate it by will."
Junki nods soberly, as Eyre holds up his implant scanner to show her the readout.
Angelika embraces Junki, with a delighted smile, nostrils flaring. She smiles ravishingly at the camera as she puts her head next to Junki, getting both of their faces into the shot. "Fabulous darling! We'll be having lots more parties, I can see."
**
Back at the gym you are no longer in the workout room, but rather in a steam-filled shower room. Amidst the various naked men are two women. One red-head has a towel wrapped around her that covers her from breast to mid thigh, but the other, Demonika, is parading around in the nude with a towel draped around her neck. It covers her breasts as she turns towards the camera, which is quickly steaming up. She says, "No excuses - be a real man. Now you know how to party whatever your poison."
Demonika tosses her towel aside and walks off into the steamy shower where she is joined by two men; one holding a sponge and the other a bar of soap.
As the camera fades to black you hear her laughter.
**
Join us for the next episode, where we meet some strangely law-abiding deckers.

Episode 11: Baby deckers change your profession

Neurotika, Demonika, Angelika are sitting in front of a large bank of TRI-V screens, lounging back in large synthleather recliners. As the scene opens, the screens flicker with static. Seated in a relaxed pose on the recliner next to Angelika is Blue, well-known decker and celebrity from the New Carthage music scene.
Angelika turns to Blue, her nostrils flaring, her look equal parts of wonder, lust, and resentment. She smiles, quickly, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, seemingly composing herself. She notices the camera and flashes another, far wider smile at the audience. “Welcome darlings! Our show today is all about deckers, and their incredible exploits out there on the matrix. So who better to be our co-host than the legendary Blue, decker and entertainer extraordinaire. Of course, Blue’s friends call him Dominique.”
Angelika leans towards Blue, smiling flirtatiously “So, Domi, darling,” she asks, “Now’s your chance to spill the beans about your fellow deckers!”
Neurotika mumbles in the background, her voice slightly muffled as she nervously biting on a nail, “I do hate deckers, snooping, sneaking about, hacking my complant…” Demonika glances in irritation at the hapless Neurotika, and says something inaudible, no doubt pithy. Neurotika looks like she’s about to cry.
Blue clears his throat, glancing in quiet amusement at the three clones. “Spill the beans? We’ll have to see. I’ll start by introducing some of the common mistakes made be beginner deckers - I don’t think I can say it any better than my fellow deckers say it themselves.” He turns towards the bank of screens, pressing the large single button on a small remote control.
**
We join Angelika and Laroche in the middle of a conversation. Laroche is standing next to Angelika, idly fiddling with some small tools. His short blond hair is shaved nearly down to bare scalp, the light reflecting off it in a blinding fashion. Deep green eyes are set into his face, an aura of mystery portrayed from deep within as a slight twinkle is emitted from each from the light of Deck Shop. Gleaming on the back of his neck is a shiny chrome-plated DNI socket, set into the center of his spinal column at the base of his head, flat with the outer dermal layer of skin. Tiny wires peak out a central hole in its surface and disappear to the depths within. The hole is fitted with a miniscule socket, allowing him to insert a direct neural link from the cyberdeck of his choice.
The camera scans around the room, pausing slightly on a wall full of shiny tools, then on a desk strewn with circuitboards and wiring, and finally on Laroche himself. “How do new deckers get started? First thing I'd do to get started would be to save, come up with about 8k and purchase an MEII. One of the biggest mistakes new jockeys make is wasting cred on inferior hardware. They grow out of it quickly and have nothing left but some wasted cred and the newfound knowledge that they should have gone with the MEII in the beginning."
Angelika shifts over, sitting comfortably on Laroche's synthoak desk, nodding. "Tell me about some of the other mistakes new jockies make?"
Laroche continues, as if he was getting to that. “At all costs, avoid the deckers Jeeves and Felix. The second mistake people make is thinking these two will help them in some way, when really they are out for control. For power. It's all they have in life...."
**
The scene cuts back to the four avid TRI-V watchers. Blue nods, explaining “Ah, yes, Jeeves and Felix, two of my more temperamental peers. You know, Jeeves used to assoc…”
Blue is interrupted by Demonika, who licks her lips with an audible ‘smack’. “All that power and control sounds like fun…..” She grins, ignoring Blue’s contemptuous look.
Blue comments nonchalantly “Jeeves is 5 years old, literally. And Felix is a very interesting character, she used to be a man.”
Angelika snorts in disbelief, nostrils flaring along with her temper. “Domi darling, don’t be disgusting. I refuse to let you spread that awful rumour. How could someone as genteel as Hatori Felix ever have been a man! She is one of the most stylish women in New Carthage. And she’s one of our major sponsors on Reality Bites.” Angelika flashes a very sincere smile at the camera.
Demonika pats Blue on the shoulder patronisingly. “Blue, admit you’re just the tiniest bit jealous because some might say that Hatori is smarter than you, and has better gear. There is literally nothing that she can’t do. And she does have impeccable taste.”
Blue seems to consider storming off the set, then dismisses the idea, turning to the camera and ignoring his ill-mannered co-hosts. “Anyway, AS I WAS SAYING. Jeeves used to associate with someone called Ix, a most perpetually stoned hippy type.”
**
The hand-held camera follows Angelika edgily, as the loud clicking of her high heels echoes against the bare brickwork of a dark alley. The surroundings become more oppressive and sullen by the moment. You follow her, almost breathing down her neck as she walks past a cardboard city housing a small group of homeless people. They watch Angelika, sniggering. The hairs on her neck prickle at your gaze, and she turns back quickly to look behind her, eyes wide and startled. She doesn't seem to notice you. The clicking of her heels is suddenly silenced, and you come to a stop just behind her. She stands, hesitating for a long moment, before a small wooden door painted with a faded collection of smiley faces, daisies, and peace signs. Her heels click again, as she steps quickly into the door of a little electronics shop. She takes a deep breath, and knocks on the backroom door.
The door opens, and Angelika walks inside, her slender silhouette framed by soft warm light.
Inside, scraps of brightly colored cloth carpet the floor, creating a soft and comforting atmosphere. Tables stacked with bits of electronics line the walls, the parts ranging from the archaic to the very latest Chiba inventions. Racks of tools are hung neatly over every available surface, and a robotic dog stands quietly in the corner over a pair of chrome and blue boots. The room is lighted by a slender spiraled stained glass lamp, hung from the ceiling. Various work lamps perched on the furniture add to the room's overall brightness.
Angelika smiles somewhat anxiously "Hello darlings."
ix blinks up at Angelika from her chair and runs a hand through her hair, smiling sunnily, "Hey man, how's it hangin’?"
The camera focuses briefly on ix-nay. Several slightly wilted daisy flowers are braided into her scraggly brown hair along with brightly colored strings and ribbons. The dilated pupils in her large baby blue eyes regard you with a calm fascination only specialized pharmeceuticals can bring, although her gaze is almost disturbingly clear. Freckles cover her nose and cheeks liberally, brightening her youthful, slightly babyish face and the innocent smile is contagious. Her DNI socket is barely visible near the back of her head. ix wears a thin cotton sundress. It is yellow and green tie-dye with white spiral patterns on it. The material is almost see-through, and hangs loosely from ix's shoulders. You can make out the curves of ix's body beneath it. Several words are scrawled onto her left wrist, looking closely you can make out the names Dustbunny, Longshot, O, Zane.
There is an abrupt cut to a later part of the interview. Jeeves shrugs his shoulders, the mesh fibers making an irritating noise with the movement. "I would think that the tactics I employ in my profession are rather well known among most decking circles."
Angelika nods mock seriously at Jeeves, "Awfully well known, Jeeves darling. Someone said some terribly rude things to me about you and Felix yesterday.”
ix blinks in startlement, "No way man, that's a pretty bad trippin gig.. "
Angelika nods at ix seriously, eyes widening. "He seemed almost suicidally antagonistic to them."
ix pulls a fresh daisy out of her hair, placing it on her lap and carefully caressing the petals as she sighs, "Dunno man, ain't understandin’ that, ain't diggin’ that gig, lotta bad vibes. Dunno why anyone would think that and alla that."
Jeeves looks impassive, "I, myself, have little concern for Laroche's opinion." he gestures about the room, "it would seem that, at the very least, I have somewhat more than 'power,' as Laroche puts it, to keep me company. If he holds rude opinions, it is his choice to play the part of the fool when discussing them."
There is a more subtle cut this time as the interview moves on further.
Angelika turns to ix. "Now darling, on a more positive note, do tell us the most enjoyable things about being a decker? What on earth makes it worth it to get all those nasty wires and implants stuck in you?"
ix straightens and opens her arms wide, pointing out the presence of her wheelchair with an expansive gesture, "Well man, ain't able ta walk and can hardly pick up a deck and alla that cuz of some accident gig at one of the clone gigs, in the 'trix it's free, ain't gotta worry 'bout how much my meat is hurtin’ and how sometimes I gotta strap on a tank of oxygen and that gig, ain't a cripple in the 'trix, just another icon, and I can walk and move and carry things as much as I want.. can't get that meatside anymore.."
ix smiles sunnily, "Should try it sometime man, even if ya just get 'trodes put on and alla that, some of the nodes are really beautiful, can watch the stars in em and alla that."
Angelika tilts her head sideways, looking at ix, enthralled by her description. "I'm dying to see what it's like darling. Tell me more."
ix begins enthusiastically, "It's really trippin’ man, everythin's all graphical nowadays, ain't usually need ta work with code 'less ya like programmin’ so all the progs can look really nice, and ya can even feel gigs while yer in it.. there're bars ya can go ta to play chess with other deckers, just hang out and alla that, and some of the nodes got plenty of things ta play with, can even prog yer own node"
ix continues, "when yer in the 'trix there're twinkles like stars of data flyin’ by and ya can ride the stream ta go anywhere ya want, go explorin’, and there's always new gigs with companies goin’ up and down, wantin’ ta show ya what's up, ain't illegal or nothin’ ta take a look cuz most of em got guest accounts so ya can see what's in there."
ix smiles dreamily, "’Sides man, ain't castles meatside anymore, 'specially not in this city and that gig, but there are in the 'trix, and dragons and galaxies and anythin’ ya could want, meadows with flowers and alla that, really trippin gig.. good vibes and all.."
**
Neurotika smiles, an almost opiated look on her face. “Sounds wonderful…peaceful.” Blue looks up, as if coming out a trance, and says, “Oh, yes, very, hmm… vivid description. It’s not all wine and roses like that, though. There’re consquences if you stray outside your yard. Rumor is Ix got tossed out of an airlock by a team from I….er, a certain company who didn’t like what she was doing. Rumor also has that these same people are after Jeeves… then again, maybe the rumors are bullshit… let’s see what they had to say.”
**
Angelika pans the camera back to Jeeves, edging in to a wary close-up on his features. "Given that you chaps are out there, what should we meatside creatures be wary of? What are the things you can do to us? Hack our complants, read our mail, send out messages on the coms impersonating us, check our bank statements?"
Jeeves chuckles softly, a rare expression of emotion coming through. He looks off into space for a moment before phrasing his reply, "As you know, part of the the control deckers can exert is based off of the fact that the meatside individual or group it affects is unaware of what's going on, or even that it can be done at all. Deckers deal in the most important commodity of all: information. Manipulation and examination of this data is customary. Naturally, our hands are tied by corporate law, and no decker would be foolhardy enough to break that." He smiles thinly.
ix smiles and shrugs, "Ain't nothin’ we can legally do man, yer all safe and that gig."
**
Blue raises an eyebrow, dropping it just as quickly and nods. “They’re of course right on that count.” He nods again, and smiles.
Angelika breathes in unevenly, glancing sidelong at Blue as she brushes back a strand of excessively blonde hair. She smiles a practised ravishing smile. "Lets talk about something more pleasant darlings. How about some more advice for our baby console jockeys."
Blue smiles again, sardonically, as he presses the button on the remote control.
**
ix chews on her lip as she thinks, "well man, best thing's probly ta scan ice 'fore ya go runnin inta it.."
Simultaneously, and without hesitation, Jeeves states, coldly and evenly, "Change your profession."
ix trails off as she blinks at Jeeves, "..well, yeah, try ta stay outta nodes ya ain't supposed ta be in? wouldn't wanta make people go breakin the law and alla that.. ain't groovin with corps law ta go breakin inta company nodes man..”
Jeeves gestures slightly with his hands, explaining his answer "There are very few notable deckers; the path to such a status is a long one, and it does not grow easier with time. When one challenge is overcome, another appears in its place, oftentimes harder than the last. It would be far simpler to merely select a different field from the outset, rather than attempting and failing."
**
Blue raises an eyebrow, dropping it just as quickly and nods. “They’re of course right on that count.” He nods again, and smiles.
Angelika gently grabs Blue’s arm and asks, “Blue, darling, isn’t there anything else you’d like to add to that?”
Demonika snorts rudely “So its not all just twinkle twinkle little star, and sniffing beautiful flowers…” Neurotika’s head bobs up and down as if her neck is spring-loaded. He places his finger in his mouth, seemingly pondering, and says, “Well, I could tell you about HICE…” He pauses, a series of various different emotions playing across his face. "...but that's perhaps not the subject for such a glamourous documentary.
Neurotika looks over at Angelika in silent alarm.
Blue smiles, slowly, non-commitally, and then deftly twirls the remote control.
Angelika smiles and nods, perhaps too quickly, going back to a previous point. “Well, well, Jeeves believes that baby deckers should change their profession. That’s an important warning…”
Angelika leans towards Blue, smiling ravishingly “… the odds may be stacked against them, but there’s always a chance they might succeed like you, sweetie darling. You’re a wonderful example of someone who not only succeeded at decking, but made a name for yourself on the very competitive New Carthage music scene.”
**
The scene cuts to the Club XS, where the atmosphere is electric as Blue makes a public appearance.
The camera pans over to the booth, where Angelika and Hallel are seated with Blue. Kirsten, a slight predatory glint to her hazel gaze leans against the side of the booth, her thumbs hooked into the waist band of her black leather pants.
Blue, leaning back against the cheap plastic seat, and spinning a firemedia card between his fingers, smiles, slowly, "Thing is, really, I'm good at what I do, all of it."
Blue smiles, even wider, "And lets face it, the fans love me, right?"
Kirsten grins wolfishly, listening to Blue, nodding slightly in agreement.
Angelika pans the camera around to set the scene, moving over the erotic dancers, stopping briefly to focus on the two beautiful NC girls, Kirsten, with her tongue hanging out wolfishly, and Hallel, drinking herself into a stupor.
Blue's smile moves into a full blown grin, and he nods, again spinning the firemedia on the end of his finger, before leaning his head back and letting out a full-blooded scream, very loud, yet surprisingly
musical.
Blue grins as some dancers on the dance floor stop and look over towards the booth. "I'm a talented boy."
Angelika moves in closer to Blue, hoping for some more of the same action.
Blue makes a 'come-hither' motion at the camera. "With some talented fingers, some talented pipes........and a beautiful mind. The trick, if you will, is to play to what you got."
Angelika moves the camera even closer, leaning right across the booth with the camera, her outfit squeaking slightly. "Just tell us then, what is the thing about your life that you most regret..."
Hallel drinks the last of her beer, and looks forlornly into the empty mug.
A gust of mist wafts from the generators below the stage, making the laser light show even more impressive before the mist gets sucked into the gyrating crowd.
Blue curls his 'come-hither' finger into his mouth, and ponders. "Regret? I regret that I was so introverted for so long, perhaps. Drugs, I regret the huge amounts of uppers that used to be my companion."
Kirsten takes the camera from Angelika and zooms the camera in on Blue, capturing the best angle on his pretty boy looks, "And what lights your fire now?"
Blue grits his teeth as if keeping something back.
Kirsten chuckles softly and pull the camera back, focusing on Blue's torso and the top of the table, "You look too sweet and gentle to be the kind of bad boy who spreads mayhem in his wake."
Blue laughs, very loudly. "Don't judge a book, etcetera. Anyway, -I- don't spread it. I have people to do it for me."
Blue smiles, after a short pause, spinning the firemedia card again, "Life is boring without a little chaos…."
**
Blue stands up, giving each lady a kiss on the cheek and whispering something in their ear. Demonika's eyebrows raise, her nostrils flaring. Angelika and Neurotika both giggle, as Blue nods, smiles, and heads towards the door. Their gazes, perfectly synchronised, follow his ass like rubberneckers at a car crash as he walks out. The sound of his footsteps diminishes and the ladies turn to each other, talking in low tones, interspersed with the occasional extremely rude snigger. Angelika utters an audible "Well, darling, he certainly -is- delectable, though a bit short.". Demonika shrugs dismissively as the scene fades out.

Episode 12: It's a thug's life

Neurotika is standing in front of the Memorial Plaque in front of the Syndrome. The moon glows clearly in the night sky. Sound and light spills from the bar to the south. A concrete ramp leads down into a parking garage under the Syndrome. She whispers, her face distorted with a crippling fear, "Look out for the thugs."
**
Kentaro arrives from the other side of the street.
The camera focuses on Kentaro (payup), who is wielding a molybdenum bone spur. A fucking tall ass mother fucker decked out with some shiny ass armor.(female version) he notices your stare and gives you the once, twice and thrice over. he moves closer to you with a mischief smile as if he has something on his mind. (male version) He notices your stare and sizes you up then chuckles as if you pose to threat to him whatsoever. Stalking around the area you can catch his hands brushing, grabing, and slapping a female buttox.A deep black body suit covers his entire form. The material is thick, and sewn in a weave pattern.
The threat of Kentaro's molybdenum bone spur is unmistakably clear as he fcuses his attention on Angelika with ready, watching eyes, and says "Get naked and pay me"
Kentaro gets out his baseball bat.
Angelika links credsticks with Kentaro, transferring a ludicrously low amount, judging by Kentaro's expression.
Kentaro commands, "More"
Angelika links credsticks with Kentaro and transfers yet another ludicrously low amount.
Kentaro [to Angelika]: "How much you got?"
Angelika replies "Only enough for the clone I'm obviously going to need, darling."
Kentaro grips his baseball bat firmly, preparing to club Angelika.
Angelika tries to slip away, but to no avail!
Kentaro swats at Angelika, but she ducks under the baseball bat, avoiding
injury.
Kentaro turns back to Angelika "Show me the credstick... fuck". He shouts "People!"
Angelika shows the pitifully small amount on her credstick to Kentaro (payup).
Kentaro persuades Angelika to donate the entire amount to his cause.
**
The camera focuses on your hand holding a a long thin stick of silicon and fiberplastic, your pathetically empty credstick,
The credstick currently holds 5 credits. It is registered to the Bancorp Financial Services.
**
Kentaro grips his baseball bat firmly, preparing to club Seager, and exclaiming "Give me money!"
Kentaro dodges Seager's super-style kick/punch combination. Maybe Seager's style isn't as hot as you suspected.
Seager ducks to the side as Kentaro swings wildly at his right thigh with
the baseball bat.
Seager asks Kentaro wearily "What do you want this time?"
Seager comes up with this aggro jumping elbow-smash move, but Kentaro turns aside easily and escapes. Whoa.
Seager deftly rolls out of the way of Kentaro's baseball bat.
Kentaro says, deadpan, "The usual - I beat you and you pay me for it" He says, "Its a good deal"
**
James unzips his right shoulder holster.
James reaches into his right shoulder holster and pulls out a DoL Vigilante.357.
James zips closed his right shoulder holster.
Kentaro asks "Hey what are you doing with that? You could hurt someone."
James points the business end of his DoL Vigilante .357 at Kentaro and pulls he trigger.
James replies, infinitely cool "Well, that's the idea."
Kentaro taps his neck.
The Harrier AV-8H's 7.62mm minigun extends and spins up its multibarrel muzzle.
James drawls laconically. "You are under arrest, usual bullshit."
Kentaro rolls to one side, one of his molybdenum bone spurs held out to scrape across James's chest.
James pulls too much lead and blasts away at the air in front of Kentaro.
The Harrier AV-8H's 7.62mm minigun grinds on its turret motors and locks onto Kentaro.
The Harrier AV-8H pours armor-piercing bullets into Kentaro's left calf, splattering bloody fragments.
Kentaro flees for his life!
**
cptn. lewski is here, spraying the wall of the syndrome with a can of spraypaint. A large yellow spray-painted scrawl appears: "DESTROYER DISCOUNTS. JUST AROUND THE CORNER AND CROSS THE STREET ON HITACHI. MUSHROOM BUILDING, RACKTHREE. BETTER PRICES THAN ALL THESE BITCHASS IMPOSTERS." across the entire wall here.
Lewski throws a can of spraypaint at The Syndrome.
The can of spraypaint sails through The Syndrome.
**
Lewski throws up some gang hand signals, identifying himself as a KiNG.
Kentaro poses for Angelika's camera, and throws up some gang hand signals, identifying himself as a KiNG.
The camera focuses on cptn. lewski. Standing just under six foot and looking to weigh roughly 170 lbs. this man looks to be quite at ease with his surroundings. his dark brown hair looks like it could use another buzzing though it is not long enough to comb back. an ever so slight scowl is carved into his face like stone. light hazel eyes reveal no feeling and he never seems to blink. his lips are pale and persed, his jaw muscles flex now and then as he clenches his teeth, an almost invisible sneer on one half of his mouth. he is not bulging with huge muscles, but his arms show incredible definition and toning. veins run from the backs of his hands all the way up through his bicepts, only submerging in the creases of his elbows. he looks to depend on speed and precision rather than brute force.
His body is enfolded in an imposing suit of dead black military combat armor. The adonized outer plating reflects light dully off the surfaces, and the sealed joints hiss slightly as he shifts his stance. His face is mostly invisible concealed beneath the integral shell of the armored helm. Emblazoned boldly over the heart is the logo 'DoA: We Change People.' Beneath, a stylized Phoenix rises, wingtips shedding flaming drops. Hanging from a strap across his shoulders is a large black sword scabbard
**
Turbo shoves his bokken against the roaring chain of Raul's chainsaw, which screams and nearly seizes up.
Turbo spasms violently, blood streaming from his mouth as Raul plunges the blade of his chainsaw deep into his abdomen. Raul cackles madly as the roaring chainsaw blade emerges from Turbo's back.
Angelika exclaims, "Go darling!”
Turbo's wounds begin gushing blood.
Turbo gasps, and shouts something in an unintelligible language.
Angelika smiles delightedly at Raul.
**
Raul slaps Turbo in the face. Ouch.
Raul [to Turbo]: keep that tongue stuck to your balls
Turbo nods soberly.
Raul [to Turbo]: settle down stumpfucker, before i castrate you and paint this taxi red with your entrails
**
A man with long, dark hair walks past, a ragged trenchcoat sporting the words
"Deus Irae" on a small patch over his breast.
Lewski shouts, "FUCK DEUS IRAE!! CHAOS RULES!!"
**
Lewski [to Kentaro]: we gotta fuck cilix up..
Kentaro nods to Lewski.
Kentaro [to Lewski]: thats my plan
Kentaro says, "him and cooooper"
Raul [to Kentaro]: "Pooper" Raul chuckles softly to himself.
Lewski says, "Yo man. we gotta like, get em over here somehow."
Lewski quickly punches in Cilix's number on his VisoTech 1000 CellPhone, and mumbles, "I hear you used.to hav. a big dildo implanted.onto your body because you liked it." into his VisoTech 1000 CellPhone."I've.seen the footage!"
Lewski clicks closed his VisoTech 1000 CellPhone, terminating the connection, and puts it away.
Lewski says, "HAHAHAHAHA"
**
Angelika points the camera at Kentaro, getting a very intimate close up.
Kentaro inhales Angelika's scent, hungry for another taste of her expensive and exotic perfume.
Kentaro inhales Angelika's scent, hungry for another taste of her expensive and exotic perfume.
Kentaro exclaims, "I CANT STOP!"
Kentaro says, "darrrrrrrrrrrrrling"
Angelika nods in acknowledgement of Kentaro's endearment.
Angelika says, "So tell me all about yourself, sweetheart. Why are you NC's most loved gangster"
Kentaro shrugs at you.
Kentaro [to Angelika]: says who?
You lean slightly more heavily on Raul, still smiling lightly at Kentaro. "All the cops I interviewed love you and Lewski most, darling."
Raul grabs some hapless fuck off the street and questions him "don't you love kentaro? don't you motherfucker?" he brigns the chainsaw to the guy's neck until the guy cries out, "yes, yes, I love him so much I'll have his baby."
You move slightly closer to Kentaro, keeping a nonetheless wary distance.
Kentaro [to Angelika]: Ummm. Its cuz we opress them
**
Raul salivates as a pair of spivaks in red leather walk past, one wearing a collar, the other holding a leash and whipping the collared one forward mercilessly with a nasty looking crop.
**
Kentaro touches a button on his thumb and the monofiliment cord reels back into his thumb with a slight hissing. The nail reaches the thumb and clicks softly into place.
**
Lewski mumbles, "If you want i can stuff a.stick of TNT down your throat and then feed you a lit match." into his VisoTech 1000 CellPhone.
Lewski clicks closed his VisoTech 1000 CellPhone, terminating the connection and puts it away.
Lewski says, "HAHAHAHAHAHA."
**
Neurotika's eyes widen as Lewski's voice rasps over the complant "i'll pump you up full of sandman so i can have you properly delimbed. then we'll stuff some breathing tubes in yer head and toss you in a vat of some funky liquid.."
Demonika laughs as Neurotika scuttles away back to her cube, "If that doesn't faze you, of course, you might just be cut out to join the ranks of New Carthage's bad bad boys. You're sure to be welcomed by the Brethren of the Fallen, who specialise in kidnapping innocent victims for bizarre medical experiments with implant technology."
**
Angelika and Oscar are exchanging some idle chit-chat on South Hitachi, when Ettelbrae emerges from the shadows.
Ettelbrae's voice catches everyone by suprise as they didn't notice him before..
Ettelbrae [to Oscar]: Fool..
Ettelbrae tenses the muscles in his forearm, sending a twelve inch molybdenum
blade sliding out from underneath the skin in his arm.
Ettelbrae grapples Oscar into a wrestling hold!
Oscar [to Ettelbrae]: I'm sorry! Please! Take what you want!
Oscar almost spits his viper out!
Angelika exclaims, "Let go of him, Ettelbrae darling!"
Ettelbrae [to Angelika]: Hush..
Ettelbrae [to Oscar]: Keep your eyes to yourself mortal... but now the gods
wish to meet you..
Daemon steps out of a throng of nondescript pedestrians and into plain view.
Ettelbrae shuffles off, heading south down the street.
Oscar is dragged off by Ettelbrae.
Daemon heads south down the street.
High Street (in New Carthage)
A gothic tyoeface paints itself over the screen, forming the words "The Brethren" A dark voice intones "Death....Eternal Unlife...we are the followers of the Dark Way. Come join us; revel in blood."
**
Neurotika continues, "Alternatively, get paid handsomely to commit choice atrocities for those too clever or busy to do it themselves."
**
In a cheap apartment in Public Housing, a single naked light bulb dangles from stripped wiring, illuminating the room with bleak light. The walls are patched cinderblock, composite panels, and clumps of mold that provide ample coverage for legions of cockroaches and vermin. The furniture and floor are thoughtfully covered in layers of black trashbags and urine-yellowed faxnews copies. You could get tetanus just from looking at this place. The futon is invitingly empty.The camera pans around the room, briefly focusing on a corpse of Arianna and a corpse of Ani here.
Raul pets Alyssa softly, asking, "so where's that kiss?"
Alyssa leans against the wall, chin tucked to her chest. "There is no kiss."
Raul grabs Alyssa by the hair and pulls her face close to his, "Why not? wasn't I nice to you before?"
Alyssa asks, "You find it amusing to rape helpless girls? Does it turn you on?"
Raul says, "a little" He glares at Alyssa, "take it off"
Alyssa says, "Get a life."
Raul licks his lips and looks over Alyssa's frail body.
Raul [to Alyssa]: You better not be calling for help
Raul grips his stun stick and swings it at Alyssa!
Raul lithely dodges past Alyssa's punch.
Alyssa is momentarily paralyzed by shock as Raul brutalizes Alyssa's head with a fearsome strike from his stun stick. Raul seizes this opportunity to land another crushing blow with his stun stick on Alyssa, the smell of burnt flesh rising from Alyssa as she begins to foam at the mouth.
Alyssa is barely conscious, mangled and bloody.
Alyssa's punch sails past Raul.
Raul savagely jabs his stun stick into Alyssa's head, eliciting a scream of surprised agony from Alyssa. Alyssa doubles over clutching her head in extreme pain. Raul quickly recovers from her strike and returns to a defensive stance.
Raul savagely jabs his stun stick into Alyssa's head, eliciting a scream of surprised agony from Alyssa. Alyssa doubles over clutching her head in extreme pain. Raul quickly recovers from her strike and returns to a defensive stance.
The sound of bones in Alyssa's head breaking can clearly be heard over the zap of electricity from Raul's stun stick as he mercilessly savages Alyssa with blow after blow, his stun stick rising and falling like a piston.
Alyssa slumps to the ground unconscious.
Raul grins at Alyssa as her eyes flutter open again.
Raul . o O ( stubborn bitch. )
Alyssa points down at the two female corpses on the floor, spitting a mouthful of blood. "They wouldn't kiss you either I guess, huh?"
The first female corpse looks fairly fresh and probably died within the last few hours. Nearly every inch of tissue around the head is damaged, destroyed, or completely gone. The laceration trauma to the area is considerable.
Flies buzz around the second female corpse. The stench rising from it is overpowering as the decay really begins to set in. Some minor bruising is evident around the fringes of the right shoulder, apparently a result of blunt force damage. Almost undetectable clotting formed right after death under the chest in patterns suggest blunt force and laceration injuries. Almost undetectable clotting formed right after death under the left upper arm in patterns suggest blunt force injuries. A set of right upper arm abrasions leads you to believe that very minor tearing trauma might have been sustained in that area. Although there are several signs of blunt force and laceration injuries all over the victim's left forearm, it is unlikely that this was the immediate cause of death. Although there are several signs of blunt force and slash injuries all over the victim's right forearm, it is unlikely that this was the immediate cause of death. A set of right hand abrasions leads you to believe that very minor blunt force trauma might have been sustained in that area.
Raul chuckles at Alyssa, "No, they did kiss me, and they did even more, but they were worthless, so I got rid of them"
Alyssa asks icily, "Are you sure -they- were the worthless ones?"
Raul leans lecherously over Alyssa and licks a little blood off her chin, "Mmm, yes, and thats why they are dead, you are worth a little something to me, so you're still alive."
Alyssa asks, in a hoarse voice "Someone paid you to kidnap me. How much are they paying you for this?"
Raul says, "More then you have"
Raul says, "You ain't got shit for cred"
Alyssa says, "That's a matter of opinion and ignorance."
Raul asks, "Well what you got to offer then?"
Raul . o O ( hrm... could set her free for the right price, then catch her again later )
Raul scratches his chin thinking about something.
Alyssa says, "It's obviously of no interest to you....so nothing."
Alyssa says, "We'll sit here and wait for your bosses to show up."
Raul says, "You didn't make me an offer, so you aint got shit to offer"
Alyssa hisses, "Exactly."
Raul grins at Alyssa with hostile intent, "Well, I got a little something for you then" He stands on the futon over Alyssa and reaches inside his jacket.
Raul grabs Alyssa by the hair and pulls her head back and sits on her chest. He forces her mouth open and pours the contents of a vial into her mouth and spits into her mouth as well, holding her mouth and nose closed untill she is forced to swallow.
Alyssa quickly snorts a vial of blue powder, then drops the empty vial on the ground.
The scene cuts to much later.
Raul smiles coolly at Alyssa, "how old are you anyways?"
Alyssa moves her mouth in an attempt to speak, a harsh crackling noise being the only sound emitted.
Alyssa clutches her throat, forcing out words painfully. "Corgan....com...."
Raul leans over Alyssa and listens to her closely, "Whisper if you gotta"
Alyssa tries to speak normally, only managing to force out a slight whisper. "com me....said...dont trust....you will kill me."
Alyssa whispers lightly, "Thug will....thug will kill me..."
Raul pets Alyssa, "you're not for me to kill, but if they say for you to stop breathing, I'll probly be the one to do it" you listen closer, "anything else?"
Alyssa coughs and shakes her head painfully.
Alyssa says, "clone.....clone....."
Raul strokes Alyssa's hair, "you have no clone?"
Alyssa wheezes deeply, the faint whisp of her voice barely escaping her lips. "Cheap...clone...."
Raul pets Alyssa, "oh, so if you die again and again, you'll probly end up clone failing, so what ever they want from you, it's probly best to give them it, so they let you go"
Alyssa wheezes deeply, shaking her head.
Raul chuckles, "it's for the best" he grins ferally at Alyssa.
Alyssa says, "best....not....best....."
The scene cuts to much later, Alyssa is looking much the worse for wear, but Raul is in high spirits.
Raul sings, "I've been working on the rail road."
Raul grips his stun stick and swings it at Alyssa!
Alyssa's punch sails past Raul.
Alyssa is momentarily paralyzed by shock as Raul brutalizes Alyssa's head with a fearsome strike from his stun stick. Raul seizes this opportunity to land another crushing blow with his stun stick on Alyssa, the smell of burnt flesh rising from Alyssa as she begins to foam at the mouth.
Alyssa slumps to the ground unconscious.
Alyssa gets up from the ground, shaking her head groggily.
Raul continues singing, "all the live long day."
Raul looks up from coms, and then says, "Cooper wants to pretend to be a big man and save you"
Raul laughs heartily, his face twisting in glee and mirth.
Alyssa frowns deeply. She is barely conscious, mangled and bloody.
Raul says, "Turn off your com, or I'll keep going"
Alyssa lays on the edge of death, barely gripping to life, responding to nothing.
Raul [to Alyssa]: well? you gonna turn it off or do i have to cut it out of your neck?
Alyssa is momentarily paralyzed by shock as Raul brutalizes Alyssa's head with a fearsome strike from his stun stick. Raul seizes this opportunity to land another crushing blow with his stun stick on Alyssa, the smell of burnt flesh rising from Alyssa as she begins to foam at the mouth.
Alyssa slumps to the ground unconscious.
Raul pulls his utility knife from its sheath.
Raul carves the word "whore" in Alyssa's chest.
Alyssa gets up from the ground, shaking her head groggily.
Raul pokes Alyssa in the ribs, "yoohoo"
Raul traces his fingers over the new carving in Alyssa's chest, "Hope you like it" He sheathes his utility knife.
Raul growls at Alyssa, and pulls her jacket further apart to survey his work. 'Whore' is carved sloppily into her chest, over her full breasts.
Raul takes the cigarette. He takes a drag on the cigarette, and his nerves seem a bit more calmed.
He nonchalantly blows the smoke into Alyssa's face.
**
As the cloud of smoke disperses, Demonika smiles slightly, and blows you a mocking kiss. "Well, the only thing which surprised me about that little torture session is that Raul can actually write. I will have to give him a raise. As you can see, thugging's a tough job, darlings, but someone has to do it. Neither brains nor cred required - simply perfect for you" She laughs mockingly, eyes briefly focused on you, and then turns on her heel smartly, shiny trenchcoat flapping, and walks away, her high heels leaving a trademark trail of incisions in the featureless white landscape.

Angelika's planned speech for the Oscars

Darlings, this show cost me 210k to produce and broadcast! So a million kisses to my generous, smart and sexy sponsors:

Kingpin, Janya, New Carthage City Services, Blue, Ulysses, Felix, Oscar, Kirsten, Lynx, Mirage
*blows a theatrical kiss as audience applauds dutifully*

Special, special thanks to:

Kirsten - You're gorgeous darling, and so talented! Do come with me to Vegas!
Blue - I hate you sweetheart.
Vi - My ultimate inspiration.
Ettelbrae, Such style and panache as you sloshed about the beer vat in the Old City brewery.
Raul, you kept me safe - from everyone except yourself, darling!
Kentaro - 15k for a 5 second interview with you...and of course... I'd pay it again.
Ulysses - Great footage, but do take a bath, darling.
Penumbra - Spectacular!
Ymir - Stop blushing dammit
Doc, Lewski and Cooper - for playing so hard to get
Felix - I owe you everything, as you know.
Tempest - Bad girls make good soundtracks
And of course I'm not forgetting all my adoring fans - I love you always...
*eyes brim over with fake but plentiful tears*
See you all in Vegas, sweetie darlings!